How The World Ends
by DarkAngelElektra
Summary: -AU- In an unseen war between vampires and Hunters, one vampire is content to remain neutral-until his fascination with the damaged survivor of a vamp attack threatens the balance of power between the two sides. Batista/Mickie, along with many others.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**A/N: NEW STORY! First AU story, btw. I decided to write this partly because I really wanted to write a vampire story, and partly because I couldn't _not_ write it. I really am not sure where I'm going with this one, so it's going to an adventure! With fangs! (God, I have had too much caffeine today...)**

**DISCLAIMER: Even though this is an AU, I own no one in this story. *shrugs* Sorry...

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**How The World Ends**

Prologue: All Alone Now

At first, all he saw was darkness. Then, the closed fist swooped in out of nowhere, crashing into his face and snapping his head back.

Dave felt rather than saw the blow; both of his eyes had swollen shut and what little vision he still possessed was hindered by the blood trickling from the various gashes on his face. He wasn't sure what the extent of his injuries were—the pain was too widespread at this point to trace to any one source—but he was pretty sure that he looked like something out of a horror film.

Appropriate, since by all intents and purposes, he _was_ something out of a horror film.

_Guess it's about time that I started looking like a monster…_the big man thought to himself. _Considering that I AM one…_The mental observation sounded so much like one of Mickie's bitter remarks that for a moment, Dave forgot his situation, a raspy chortle of almost-laughter bubbling up from deep within his massive chest.

"What's that, big guy? Had enough yet?"

At the mocking sound of his tormentor's voice, Dave felt his transient amusement shatter into tiny shards, replaced by a cold hard ball of anger that sat in his stomach like a weight. There were two of them, circling around him like a pair of vultures. Faint shadows at the edges of his vision who periodically dove in to deliver more physical and psychological punishment. _They_ were the monsters, not him. He and his captors might share a few traits in common—a certain non-human status, for one—but Dave knew that he was nothing like them.

Sure, he had preyed on humans, and sure, in the beginning, he had taken a life or two. But he had never done it in pursuit of some depraved satisfaction; had never tormented others for the sake of a sick twisted delight—like these two obviously were. And because of his own stupidity, he was at their mercy, unable to defend himself—and unable to protect Mickie.

Now, thanks to him, she was once more in the clutches of the monsters, at the mercy of someone—some_thing_—far worse than this depraved duo.

The big man bowed his head a little, once again going over what little he could remember. He remembered Mickie, her golden brown hair tucked up under her black cadet cap, a black scarf wrapped around her throat, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders as they hurried down the darkened street toward the rendezvous point. He remembered getting this eerie feeling that they were being followed. The last thing he could recall before the needle pierced his neck, bringing with it unconsciousness, was a maniacal hoot of laughter, followed by Mickie's screams…

The next thing he knew, he was in what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, chained to a steel support beam with thick iron manacles that must have been relics from medieval times—with those two sadists dancing around in front of him. At first, he had fought back, snarling and snapping at them like a wild animal when they tried to get close. But then Mike—or "Miz", as the little bastard preferred to be called—had picked up a lead pipe, swinging it gleefully at Dave's skull. And while the big man sat there, dazed and reeling from the blow, Miz's partner, Morrison, was able to dart in with a pair of pliers, using the tool to rip out both of Dave's canine teeth.

That was the closest Dave came to breaking, feeling the nerves snap with that first abrupt yank. The agony had been indescribable; he'd been unable to keep himself from roaring in pain. Miz had flinched, but Morrison had been unfazed, moving back a step and tilting his palm down, allowing the two bloody teeth to drop from his hand to the concrete floor. Dave could still remember precisely what he had said, the cold neutrality of his voice as he spoke:

_You love the humans so much, Dave. Maybe it's time you learned what it's like to be one._

That was perhaps the last clear memory he possessed. Everything else had faded into a dull haze of punches and kicks and taunts, mingled with the ever-present pain. How long had it been since then? Minutes? Hours? _Days_? Time, a quantity which had ceased to concern him a long time ago, had now taken on a sense of extreme importance. What happened to him didn't matter; his body had been built to endure, immortality had made him almost indestructible. If he made it out of here, his wounds would heal—his fangs might even grow back.

But Mickie, on the other hand…Despite her tough exterior, despite everything she had survived, the flesh and blood surrounding her fiery soul was still only human. Unlike him, her time would eventually run out—and if he didn't find her soon, it would slip from her even faster. The last few grains of sand would slip through her hourglass, and then…nothing. The life, the fire in her eyes that had drawn him to her in the first place would drain away, leaving only a husk of skin and bone that had once been a human being.

Just the thought of it, the existing possibility that it _could_ happen, was enough to evoke a low groan from the big man. Almost immediately, he sensed a presence at his side, hot fetid breath that reeked of blood and rotten meat hitting his face, followed by a voice: "You know, you could make things a lot easier for yourself if you just told us where they are."

Dave didn't answer; didn't even lift his head. He was pretty sure that the voice belonged to Miz; he'd always hated the little bastard. If their positions had been reversed, he would have started with the pliers, using them on a few of Miz's more tender extremeties before moving on to his fangs. The big man gritted his teeth, his tongue unconsciously poking the bloody holes where his own, slightly longer canines had formerly resided.

He heard Miz shift his body, moving around to face him. Dave was glad, for once, that he couldn't really see anything; at least he didn't have to watch that piece of shit gloat. Miz continued. "Tell us where the Hunters are—Cena and the others. Tell us what they're planning, and all _this_—" Dave had a sense of Miz spreading his arms out wide. "This pain, this suffering—it could end. You could walk out of here…while you're still able to walk."

The big man slowly lifted his head up, peering at Miz without really seeing him. "Where is she?" he slurred, his deep voice almost uninteligilbe.

Miz clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Still pussy-whipped by that mortal bitch, aren't you?" He let out a laugh that was completely devoid of humor. "Don't worry about Miss James…Mel's taking _good care_ of her for you." Miz leaned closer, until his nose bumped against Dave's. "Now…I'm gonna ask you again—_where are they_?"

Dave spat in his face, a wad of blood and saliva that dripped down Miz's cheek. "_Fuck…you_…" the big man snapped. He stopped, exhausted by the effort, his chin dropping back down to his chest again.

Miz's face twisted in fury and he swiftly brought his hand up, palm turned inward, preparing to deliver a backhand. However, just as he was about to unleash the blow, he paused, his features relaxing. He leaned down, patting Dave gently on the cheek instead. "Sorry to disappoint you, dude," he replied, his tone taking on that note of bright maliciousness once again. "But you're not my type." Miz straightened up, turning back toward his partner. "You want to take a turn here, Morrison? My arm's getting tired." As he talked, he wiped the blood and spit from his face, using it to reinforce the small mohawk adorning the top of his head.

Dave heard the light scrape of boots on cement as Morrison came toward him, and braced himself for the inevitable blow. But by the time the first punch rocked him, the big man was already gone, his mind travelling back to a time, a place, a lifestyle that now seemed like a distant memory.

_Being a vampire used to be so easy…_Dave mused to himself.

_Steer clear of the Hunters unless you want to end up a trophy…_

_Stay away from the humans unless you need to eat…_

_Don't kill unless you want to get caught…_

_Don't draw attention to yourself…_

_Most importantly, don't fall in love…because not even love lasts forever…_

He had made up those rules himself, and had followed them with the assumption that he would never need to break them. Would never _want_ to break them.

Life had been so simple…and then he met _her._


	2. Chapter 2: Here Comes Trouble

**A/N: Wow, geez, did NOT intend to go this long without updating, but I had such writer's block with this story because it's my first AU and I wanted it to be good. Luckily, I had a massive brainstorm a couple nights ago, and watched a whole lot of "Forever Knight", so I think I'm in a good place with this story. Read, review, but please, ENJOY (that's what matters the most to me) Peace!  
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**Thank you SO MUCH to **Esha Napoleon, EmoChick2, coolchic79260, Nastygrl25, Ashleymassarophan1, **and **AshlynnxHearts **for reviewing the first chapter! You are so awesome, and you make me feel so optimistic about writing this story!**

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Chapter 1: Here Comes Trouble

_Six Months Earlier_

Dave Batista lifted the beer bottle to his lips, taking a swig of the malted brew. Letting out a low sigh of satisfaction and grinning, he set it back down on the scarred wooden surface of the bar. It was a common misconception—one which could probably be attributed to that asshole Bram Stoker—that vampires could only consume blood. That wasn't quite true—Dave could also enjoy a beer or two whenever he felt the urge. Sure, his superhuman metabolism burned away the alcohol before it could absorb into his system, but he could still sit at the bar and sip a drink like a normal human being.

_Human being_. Even after all that he had seen, all that he had experienced over the past few years (almost a decade, now that he thought about it), it was still hard sometimes for him to accept that he was no longer a part of the crush of humanity surrounding him. That he belonged to a new, or as Melina would have put it, _superior_ order of beings. Certainly, his new state of existence had its perks: immortality, invulnerability, telepathy, as well as some degree of mind control—but it also had its downsides. He could burst into flames if he stepped outside on a sunny day, or suffer third-degree burns if he touched anything made of silver. He got queasy anytime he stepped into a church (though he strongly suspected that reaction was more psychological than physical).

And then there was the war. Dave hadn't realized until he became a vampire just how oblivious he'd been to the battle being waged all around him; the battle between the supernatural predators and the human beings who sought to exterminate them. A battle which he'd spent the entirety of his immortal life striving to avoid.

A battle which—unbeknownst to him—he was about to thrust right in the middle of.

But the war was the furthest thing from Dave's mind at this moment. Right now, all he was concerned with was grabbing a quick bite to eat and heading back to the apartment he shared with Melina before the first rays of the sun peeked over the tops of the buildings. The vampire picked up his beer bottle again, turning around a little on his stool to survey his surroundings.

The sign outside the place read "The Viper's Pit", and its interior was precisely what he would expect from an establishment with that moniker. A bar stretched along one wall, battered tables and chairs against the other, with a narrow aisle in between. Towards the back, a dirty staircase with black painted steps led to an unseen upper level, but Dave's heightened auditory senses could pick up the click of pool balls and the clink of glasses. Loud music of the 80s hair metal variety blared out of a dusty jukebox in the corner. The bar was crowded, with the promise of becoming more so; surprisingly, most of its patrons were clean-cut twentysomethings; people who looked like they'd be more at home on a college campus than this hole in the wall.

Dave took another swig of his beer, soaking in the atmosphere. It was his kind of place—the kind of place he would have gravitated to when he was still human, and now the perfect spot to scope out his prey under the security of anonymity. In these places, no one saw or heard anything, and they forgot your face as soon as you walked out the door. The vampire looked toward the far corner, focusing on one table in particular, the one closest to the door. It was occupied by four young women, none of whom could have been over twenty-five. Dave leaned forward a little, using his ultrasensitive hearing and mental telepathy to hone in on their conversation. Most of it was insignificant—the typical conversation fodder of young women in their early twenties—but he was able to catch a few names: Alicia, Tiffany, Eve, Kelly.

The one named Kelly was the one that interested him the most. She looked like a life-size Barbie doll: long blonde hair, big blue eyes, and an air of naïve innocence that she probably didn't even know she exuded. This was a girl that did not know how bad the world really was; who did not know that monsters really did exist. Dave concentrated, trying to lock onto her thoughts, while sending a mental message of his own…

_Kelly_…

The girl looked up sharply, her azure irises widening in surprise. She looked around for a moment, then turned toward one of her friends, frowning. "Did you hear something?" The friend—a smoking hot brunette—shook her head in the negative. Clearly puzzled by now, Kelly turned back—and in doing so, locked gazes with Dave.

As soon as her blue eyes met his dark brown ones, the girl stiffened, sitting bolt upright in her seat. The vampire stared steadily back at her, his expression never wavering. He was inside her head now, the sound of her thoughts like a sweet musical hum. She was confused, maybe even a little scared…but nevertheless, she was drawn to him. She sensed that there was something about him that she didn't understand, and it was the attraction of that mystery that was compelling her not to look away.

Dave silently projected his thoughts toward her, not commanding her so much as encouraging her unconscious desires, gently urging her to push back her chair, rise from her seat, and come to him…

Kelly's eyes widened, her pupils so huge that they practically eclipsed her azure irises. Her pretty face went slack, her jaw hanging slightly agape. Without looking down or at any of her friends, she put both hands on the edge of the table, pushing back. The chair made a harsh screeching sound as it scraped against the filthy red and black linoleum, but Kelly didn't even flinch. She was too busy responding to a summon that she couldn't comprehend, yet was compelled to obey—

The brunette looked over at her friend, her features creasing in concern. "Kel?" Kelly didn't even so much as shift her eyes in the other girl's direction, but continued to get to her feet. The brunette half-rose out of her seat as well, grabbing onto her friend's arm. "Kelly!" she cried, shaking the blond girl a little bit.

Kelly didn't move for a second; then, with what seemed like a tremendous effort, she pulled her gaze away from the vampire's, shaking her head slowly and pressing one hand to her forehead. "Eve?" she mumbled. Her voice sounded slightly slurred, as if she'd just emerged from a deep sleep. "Sorry…I just had this weird feeling all of a sudden." She sat back down, still looking a trifle bewildered, her cheeks flushing a deep pink.

Dave studied her for another second or two, a satisfied smile touching the corners of his mouth. Eve's interference didn't really faze him; whether Kelly was aware of it or not, he had her. All it would take at this point was a little more mental prodding, and the remainder of her internal defenses would crumple. The vampire drained the last of his beer, setting the bottle down on the bar. In a few minutes, he would head over to the girls' table and start culling Kelly away from the rest of the herd, but for right now, he was merely content to observe. Observe…and anticipate.

"Another beer, man?"

The male voice cut across Dave's thoughts, and he turned toward its source, slightly irritated at having his internal musings interrupted. The bartender stared expectantly back at him, tossing a dishtowel from one hand to the other. He looked like he was barely out of high school, with dark hair and a prominent, almost Cro-Magnon, forehead that jutted out over his eyes. The vampire regarded him for a moment, before nudging his empty bottle across the bar. "Sure."

The kid moved faster than he would have expected, disposing the brown glass container in a receptacle underneath the counter, retrieving a second beer, and snapping the cap off with a bottle opener before setting it in front of Dave. As the vampire grasped the bottle and pulled it closer to him, the bartender added: "Haven't seen you in here before."

_Maybe because you just graduated from high school last week_…Dave thought sarcastically, but kept the remark to himself. The kid's comment might have sounded casual enough…but there was no mistaking the suspicion lurking at the edges of his voice—a suspicion that was well justified. Despite the bar's crowded atmosphere, Dave knew that he still stood out. At 6'5'' and close to three hundred pounds, with a physique carved from a past life of bodybuilding and bouncing, it was almost impossible for him _not_ to stand out. Immortal or not, he knew that he looked like trouble, which was why he always made a point of keeping his temper in check, no matter how infuriating the situation.

Trouble got you noticed…and getting noticed got you killed.

The vampire lifted up the bottle, taking a generous swallow of beer and mulling over his words carefully. He set it back down, and looked over at the kid, who was still eying him with an air of faint distrust. "Just got into town a few weeks ago." Dave shrugged. "Felt like having a drink; figured this place was as good as any."

The bartender nodded slowly, accepting this explanation, though it was clear that his doubt had not been assuaged. He ran the towel over the surface of the bar, even though it was already fairly clean. "Okay, dude, but just to warn you—we don't get a whole lot of action in here." His voice trailed off into silence, and he resumed his wipedown of the bar, but Dave caught his unspoken final comment, skimming it off the top of his brain: _So don't go starting anything…_

The vampire felt like chuckling, but was able to keep his laughter in check. Oh, if this kid only knew… "Don't worry, man," Dave replied calmly. He rolled his bottle back and forth between his palms. "Right now, action is the _last_ thing I'm looking for."

The kid raised his eyebrows questioningly, but didn't add anything further. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Dave picked up his bottle, swiveling around on his stool. He didn't have time to deal with distrusting bartenders, not when he had a meal waiting for him on the other side of the room. The vampire smiled, touching one of his fangs with the tip of his tongue. He should use this opportunity to go over there and introduce himself to Kelly; he was more…_persuasive_…at close range.

The big man had just gotten to his feet when a powerful force ripped through his head, driving every other thought from his mind. Dave flinched, and the beer bottle slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor and shattering in an explosion of malt liquid and tiny glass fragments. But the vampire didn't know; he was too busy trying to hear past the explosion in his head.

One of the blessings and curses of being a vampire was the ability to read humans' thoughts. Dave couldn't deny that it made hunting a helluva lot easier—but he couldn't forget the first time he had walked outside as a vampire, and had nearly gone crazy from the sea of thoughts, fears, and emotions bombarding his brain. It was like listening to a dozen radio stations at once; hundreds of voices all clamoring for attention. Gradually, Dave had learned to control it, to reduce it down to a dull hum at the back of his mind. He could focus his gift toward a particular individual or group when he needed to—as he had done with Kelly and her friends—but for the most part, it remained unused, a low jumble of confused static that he had just learned to live with.

However, even after ten years, he was still gradually grasping that human beings and their thoughts were not an exact science. For example, there were some humans whom he couldn't hear at all…and some whose thoughts and emotions were so powerful that they drowned out everyone else.

This mind was one of the latter. It slammed into Dave's head like a sudden blast of white noise, deafening him. What he heard wasn't uttered so much in words, but in emotions and feelings. Icy bitterness, fiery anger—coupled with an intense despair that threatened to engulf everything else. Despair so intense that he couldn't believe it could be contained within a single person. Whoever this individual was, they had suffered—and they were still suffering.

The vampire moved forward a little, almost wincing from the overwhelming tidal wave of emotion, but still compelled to look, still compelled to _see_. He was on the verge of sensory overload, but yet he knew he had to see the source of so much inner anguish. Peering over the tops of people's heads (an easy feat, since he was taller than the average person) his gaze landed on a figure walking through the front door.

She was short, only a few inches above five feet at most, and dressed entirely in black. The only color came from the creamy pallor of her skin, and the mane of golden brown hair that spilled out from under her black cadet cap. Her face was almost completely shielded beneath the brim of her hat; Dave could only make out the line of her jaw and the full contour of her lower lip. In fact, there was very little of her bare skin that he _could_ see. It was mid-June, the time of year when most girls started breaking out the halter tops, but this chick was bundled up like it was the dead of winter. Long black coat, black fingerless gloves—and most peculiar of all, a lengthy black scarf looped several times around her neck.

The music hadn't stopped playing, the conversation level didn't drop one iota—and yet somehow, it was quieter. It was as though the entire place could feel collectively what Dave was feeling—that this chick was _wrong_. Guys moved out of her path, perhaps without even knowing why they were doing it. But the girl didn't glance up, or acknowledge their presence in any way. Instead, with movements full of purpose, she moved toward the bar—and toward Dave.

The vampire stumbled back a step or two, his eyes never leaving the diminutive form of the young woman approaching him. He had finally located his internal volume knob, gradually reducing the scream of emotion in his mind to a more tolerable level. The throbbing sensation in his head dissipated, and he was able to study the bar's newest arrival with considerably more clarity. He still couldn't make out her face.

The girl reached the bar, pulling the long sweep of her coat out of the way, and easing herself onto the stool next to the one Dave had just occupied. She folded her hands together on top of the bar. Her fingers were long and slender; her nails adorned with black polish. The bartender stepped toward her warily, twisting his dishtowel in his hands like some sort of security blanket. Dave didn't even need to hear his thoughts; they were written plainly across the kid's face.

_Oh shit…here comes trouble…_

The bartender opened his mouth to speak, but the chick spoke first. Her voice was a low pleasing alto; a harmonious contrast to the shrill chaos of her thoughts. "Tell Randy I want to talk to him." Her tone was terse, emotionless.

The kid twisted the towel even tighter; Dave could actually see his knuckles flushing white. "Hey, Mick," he stammered. "Randy's not here right now—"

"Don't bullshit me, Cody," the girl interrupted brusquely. "I _know_ he's here, counting receipts or whatever the hell he does in the back room. So go back there, find his ass, and tell him that I want to see him." Still, the bartender hesitated, so she added one additional directive, in a voice that was just above a whisper: "_Now_."

Cody bit his lip, glancing down at the floor as he ran one hand through his short spiky hair. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, he draped the towel over his shoulder and walked away, exiting the bar through an adjacent swinging door.

Dave had to bite back his laughter. He'd known instinctively that the kid was a pushover, but he wouldn't have expected him to be so easily cowed by a woman. A woman who now sat absolutely still only a foot or two from where he stood, outwardly calm, while her thoughts screamed bloody murder.

The vampire took a step toward her, tentatively reaching out with his own mind. It was more difficult than usual; honing into this chick's frequency meant cranking up the volume again. But Dave merely braced himself mentally and pushed on, hoping to find some clue as to who she was; hoping to locate some coherent thought beneath all that incoherent emotion—

_Get out…_

Dave staggered backward in surprise, almost bumping over a table. He couldn't believe what he had just heard: her voice, as clear and audible as if she'd spoken directly into his ear, spitting out those two words in the same robotic tone she'd used to address Cody. Somehow, she had known he was inside her head.

But _how_ had she known?

The vampire edged closer, trying to peer beneath the brim of her hat, trying to catch just a small glimpse of the girl that was completely fucking with his mental radar. He never got a chance to, however, because at that moment, the swinging door flew open again and Cody emerged from the back room, followed closely by another man, presumably "Randy".

He was tall and lean, with both of his muscular arms sleeved in myriad tattoos. His face would have been handsome, if not for a hard emotionless quality that can only be the result of experience. His bright blue eyes were cold, calculating; studying everything around him as though sizing up its worth. To Dave, he seemed like a snake in human form, and the vampire found himself instinctively disliking him.

Randy stopped right in front of the young woman, putting his hands on the counter. His countenance was unreadable. Eventually, he spoke. His voice was low, but Dave's superhuman hearing was still able to catch every word: "Mickie…I thought I told you never to come here during business hours."

Dave saw the girl's head lift slightly as she tilted her chin up, followed by the soft lilt of her voice. "I'm sorry, Randy, but this is an emergency—"

"I don't care," Randy's tone was just as terse as hers had been a minute ago. His expression still hadn't changed. Dave wondered what it was about this guy that was bothering him, and then it came to him—_he couldn't hear Randy's thoughts_. Instead of the usual buzz of thoughts and feelings, all he was picking up from this guy was dead, unnerving silence.

The younger man continued. "We have a deal, Mick. You can't just walk through the front door of my place and—"

"What's the matter, Orton?" A challenging quality had crept into Mickie's voice, and she leaned forward a little, unfolding her hands. "Can't stand the sight of me anymore?" She lifted up her hand, gesturing at the side of her face, which Dave still couldn't see. "Afraid _this_ will scare away all the sorority bimbos?"

Randy didn't answer at first; merely straightened up to his full height. After several long seconds, he sighed. "Go home, Mickie. We'll talk about this later; just…go home."

Mickie stiffened, and Dave could tell by her body language that she clearly wanted to argue the matter further. However, after a moment or two, her shoulders sagged slightly in resignation. "_Fine_," the brunette relented grudgingly. Her head moved a little, turning in the direction of Cody, who was standing just behind Randy with both arms crossed over his chest. "But not before Coddles over here pours me a drink."

The bartender's face turned bright red in indignation, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Randy cut him off. "Go on, Cody," the owner commanded. He nodded toward the wall of bottles behind them. "One drink, on the house. The usual." Cody gritted his teeth, but reluctantly obeyed, retrieving a small shot glass from beneath the bar and setting it on the counter. Reaching back behind him, he lifted out a bottle of vodka, pouring it into the glass until the clear liquid brimmed at the top. No sooner had he pulled the bottle away than Mickie grabbed the shot glass and tossed it back, draining the alcohol in one enormous swallow. Dave grimaced. He couldn't stand vodka; he didn't understand how this chick could drink it neat.

Her drink consumed, Mickie inverted the glass, slamming it back down onto the counter only an inch or two from Cody's hand. The bartender flinched, but Randy merely chuckled. "You always have to make a statement, don't you?" he remarked, his tone amused. Mickie stared back at him, her shoulders moving up and down in a shrug. Eventually, she turned away, tugging down the brim of her hat a little further and moving back the way she had came.

Dave watched her go, still trying to comprehend what he had just witnessed. Here was a chick, wearing all black in the middle of the summer, hiding her face beneath a hat, broadcasting an aura tumultuous enough to drive anyone even remotely empathic out of their fucking minds. A chick who had somehow sensed him inside her head—and had been able to resist him.

_Why do you care?_...a little voice inside his head—the vampire part of him—whispered coldly. _She's just another human…just another meal…So what if she gives off a weird vibe—all the more reason to stay the hell away from her…_

_Remember, Dave…_Now the voice sounded suspiciously like Melina._ You may LOOK like a human…but you're NOT human…not anymore_…

But yet the big man found himself moving forward, easing his huge frame around other bodies, his eyes fixed on the small black-clad figure in front of him. He wasn't even attempting to be subtle, he didn't have an excuse ready to blurt out should she turn around and notice him. All he knew was that he had to follow her. Despite his immortal status, he apparently still possessed a very human sense of curiosity.

Mickie had reached Kelly and her friends' table by now. Dave had forgotten all about the little blonde Barbie-doll; right now, even food was the farthest thing from his mind. The four girls looked up from their drinks, staring at the new arrival with identical expressions of haughty disgust. As Mickie passed by, Eve elbowed Kelly in the ribs playfully. "Look, Kel," she murmured, snickering. "There's something you don't see every day; a Goth hooker."

Kelly giggled. "Aw, Eve, that's insulting," the blonde replied. Her blue eyes flicked back toward Mickie. "Hookers are more subtle than _that_." Her high-pitched voice was pointed—and was considerably louder than it should have been.

Dave instantly felt the tension level in the room ratchet up a few notches, as if everyone surrounding Mickie and the girls sensed an imminent confrontation. At the door, the black-clad brunette froze, one hand gripping the door frame. Her fingers arched up a little, forming claws, and Dave could pick out the faint click of her fingernails as they beat a quick tattoo against the wood.

Mickie abruptly let go, swinging her body back around and stepping toward the girls' table. She ground to a halt just behind Kelly, reaching up to rest her hand on the back of her chair. The blonde twisted her head around to stare up at Mickie; her expression was one of guilty insolence. That is…until she caught her first full-on look at the brunette's face. Kelly's azure irises widened in horror. "Holy _shit_," the blonde girl whispered. "What the hell happened to your _face_?"

Mickie looked down at the other girl, her golden-brown hair tumbling over her shoulder and obscuring her features from his view. Her voice, when she spoke, was full of a deadly calm. "Enjoying your drink, bitch?"

Somewhere behind him, Dave heard Randy mutter: "Aw, hell."

The next sequence of events happened in a blur. Without warning, the brunette yanked back on the chair, and used one of her booted feet to sweep its legs out from under it, sending both it—and Kelly—crashing down to the floor. Before the blonde could even scream, Mickie stepped on her face, forcing her head to the side, grinding her sole into the other girl's jaw. Kelly gagged, flailing her arms helplessly out in front of her. Her friends all jumped to their feet, but seemed to be capable of little more than screaming. Not one of them attempted to pull Mickie off Kelly.

Randy's features twisted in irritation. "_Fuck_!" he exclaimed through clenched teeth. He looked over at Cody, who stood there stock-still, mouth hanging open in shock. "What the _fuck_ are you standing there for?" the owner spat. "Get Ted and get her the fuck out of here!" The bartender hesitated for a half-second long, before his stunned paralysis finally broke and he dashed out from behind the bar, running up the black-painted steps.

Dave felt like his head was about to explode. The sudden attack had sent everyone in the bar into panic mode, and his mind was inundated with silent screams. It was difficult even moving forward; it was like traversing a battlefield, even though the battlefield was all in his head. But the vampire gritted his teeth and kept walking, shoving other people rudely aside.

He didn't know how long it took him to reach her side; Dave moved faster than a human being, but it still seemed like an eternity had elapsed before he was next to her, grabbing her wrist and jerking her back off of Kelly. Up until he grabbed her, Mickie had merely stood there, staring mutely down at the writhing blonde girl under her foot, completely oblivious to everything and everyone. But the instant the vampire's fingers closed over her wrist, the brunette's icy calm shattered and she fought back like a wild animal, struggling to free herself. "Get off me! Get the _fuck_ off me!" she shrieked. Spinning around, she clawed at his face with her free hand. Dave quickly grabbed that one as well before her fingernails could sink into his skin. Mickie continued to fight back, however, and in doing so, accidently knocked off her black cadet cap—giving the vampire his first clear look at her face.

His first thought was that she was beautiful, quite possibly one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, with clear delicate features and large brown eyes that blazed with vengeful fire. His second was a sentiment eerily similar to Kelly's: her face…what in God's name had happened to her _face_—

Figures appeared on either side of Mickie; Cody and another man about his age that must have been the elusive Ted. They each grabbed one of her arms, and Dave relaxed his hold on her wrists, allowing them to haul her back. People were crowded around the door; the vampire was able to catch one final glimpse of Mickie's golden brown hair before she disappeared into the crush of bodies spilling out onto the street.

Dave remained where he was for another few moments, before looking down toward the floor. Kelly was clutching her jaw and quietly sobbing a foot or two away, but the vampire gave her only a cursory glance. Rather, his focus was on a piece of crumpled black material at his feet; Mickie's cap, knocked off in her attempts to extricate herself from his grasp.

Without really understanding why, Dave stooped down, picking it up. It was plain, no ornaments or designs of any kind, and still warm. The big man straightened up, peering over the heads of the gaping spectators huddled at the door, but he could see or hear no trace of Mickie or the two men. Even the deafening frequency of her aura had faded, leaving him with only the confused buzz of the other patrons' thoughts.

The vampire slowly walked back toward the bar. The crowd—assuming him to be some kind of savior after what had just occurred—parted gratefully to let him pass. Dave located his original seat and eased his massive frame onto the stool. With a heavy sigh, he tossed the cap onto the scarred countertop, massaging his temples with one hand. Even with her gone, the residue of her emotions was giving him the beginnings of a migraine.

"You look like you could use a drink," The big man looked up in surprise as the male voice interrupted his thoughts. Randy spread his arms wide, a wry half-smile touching his mouth. "On the house, man. You deserve it after wading in there."

The vampire waved the offer away with one hand. "Thanks, dude, but I'm done drinking for the evening." He glanced toward the door, then back at the younger man, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the exit. "You can tell me this, though…who the _hell was_ that?"

Randy chuckled, but the laughter didn't quite reach his eyes. His gaze swept from Dave to the door to the black cap resting on the counter between them. "_That_?" he repeated. "_That_…was Mickie James—and that's _all _you need to know."

Dave didn't know what kind of expression flashed across his face at that comment, but it couldn't have been anything good because the younger man held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Whoa, easy, dude. I'm not going all protective-older-brother on you, I'm not trying to be a cock-blocker, nothing like that. It's just…that girl's got a lot of problems; a lot of issues that you don't want any part of. She's _dangerous_, man. She's trouble—and by the looks of you, trouble is the last thing you want right now."

Randy kept talking, but the vampire tuned him out, even though his cautionary advice made sense. Life as a vampire meant hovering at the edges of human existence, waiting in the shadows, never staying in one place too late, never getting too close, never doing anything to draw undue attention to himself. Because other beings lurked in those shadows, beings who saw him as little more than another species of big game. Beings who were more than willing to provide abruptly terminate his own existence. The last thing Dave needed to do was threaten the immortal life he had carved for himself by going after a girl who was clearly damaged, psychologically…and physically.

But yet, the vampire couldn't banish one final thought, one final incident to complete the surreal sequence of events comprising the last twenty minutes. When Mickie's brown eyes had met his, the howling emotion radiating from her had suddenly died away into silence…as though whatever she had seen in his gaze had brought her some temporary sense of peace.


	3. Chapter 3: Melina

**A/N: FINALLY, a new chapter! I swear to Geez, I have been the worst when it comes to updating this story. Chalk it up to procrastination and a recurring case of writer's block. In any case, again, sorry for the delay.**

**Thank you to **Esha Napoleon, Punkprincess1996, Crystal5996, Unleashed From Within, Nastygrl25, **and **Mosvie 2k8 **for reviewing the last chapter. You are all AWESOME!

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Chapter 2: Melina

The incident at the Viper's Nest had effectively ruined any remaining appetite that Dave might have possessed, so instead of feeding, the vampire spent the next few hours walking the city's streets, reacquainting himself with familiar back alleys and shortcuts. Once upon a time, he had called this urban landscape home, and after almost ten years, he had finally returned to his old stomping ground.

Back then, he had been just a regular guy; just another clueless human being going about his daily life, completely oblivious to the darker forces that watched him from the shadows. Back then, he had scoffed at the idea of vampires, had laughed off the notion of things that went bump in the night. And now…he had become the very thing that he had once scorned. Outwardly, he was still the same, but now he had become a stranger in his own city. An entity untouched by time, walking in humanity's midst, with only an ever-fading handful of memories to remind him that he had once been one of _them_.

That is, until tonight. Until the damaged Mickie James had walked into the bar with a shitload of emotional baggage in tow. Dave's encounter with the mysterious brunette had been an all-too-painful reminder of what it was like to be human. Even now, the memory of her presence hadn't dissipated; he could still feel the echoes of her emotions in his bones, rattling up and down his massive frame like aftershock tremors. Several hours had gone by, but yet the vampire still felt disoriented and a little queasy, unable to banish the enigmatic Ms. James from his thoughts. _He_ was the fucking vampire, yet _she _was the one in _his _head. He wondered (with a kind of bitter amusement) if this was how his prey usually felt.

Randy was right: that girl _was_ trouble. Dave had grasped that concept before the Viper's Pit's owner had even opened his mouth; he had grasped it the second the shrill wail of Mickie's inner thoughts had pierced his head, digging into his brain like the needle-sharp point of an ice pick. Nothing good could come from a girl broadcasting that much suffering. He would do well to stay far away from her, not just for his own physical well-being, but for his mental sanity as well.

But if that was the case…why had he stepped in? Why, if he was looking to avoid trouble, had he involved himself in a dangerous situation that was none of his business? And why, in spite of everything he had witnessed tonight, did he still feel compelled to know _more_; to peel back the layers of pain and anguish surrounding Mickie and glimpse what lay beneath?

In other words—why did he care?

_Because you're bored…_the vampire half of his being whispered. _Because it's almost morning, and you're tired, and you're hungry, and that psycho beat up your dinner before you could grab a bite. But mostly…it's because you're bored. You think that you've seen it all, and then along comes this girl who's just messed up enough to be interesting, and you think that you've found something new. Well, I've got news for you, my friend. That girl—she's no different from the rest of them, and the only thing you're going to get from interfering in her business is yourself killed. That—or a scorching case of herpes._

Dave halted suddenly, all thoughts of Mickie driven from his mind as his dark eyes scanned the dimly-lit street. He was alone; his heightened vampire senses confirmed as much. But it wasn't Hunters that had alerted him; rather, an enemy older and far more formidable than any human predator: the sun.

With all the artificial lighting surrounding him, it was impossible to determine the true hue of the sky above. But nevertheless, the dawn _was_ coming; he could smell it in the air. Another hour, maybe a little longer, and its first rays would appear over the tops of the buildings, their light and heat as lethal to him as a bullet to the heart. The last place that any vampire desired to be during sunrise was out in the open, so unless he wanted to end up a pile of ash on the pavement, he needed to cut this nighttime excursion short and instead think seriously about heading indoors.

Dave shoved his hands deep in his pockets, hunching his broad shoulders a little as he walked, his pace more rapid than it had been before. A few more blocks led him to a large modern apartment building, its sleek glass-covered sides soaring up into the night sky. The vampire gazed up at the massive structure. Even though it was more than ten stories up, his keen eyesight was still able to pick out a slim silhouette in one of the apartment windows above him; a dark figure back-lit by warm golden light. As he watched, the figure raised its hand, fluttering its fingers against the glass in a wave. Dave felt a satisfied smile touch his lips.

_Honey, I'm home…_

The big man jogged up the front steps, the automated doors opening before him with a hiss of hydraulics. The front lobby was stylish but understated, decorated in muted tones and large leafy green plants. Dave ignored his surroundings, however, as he moved toward the elevator, raising two fingers in a gesture of greeting at the security guard seated behind the front desk. The other man barely glanced up from his magazine in response. Dave shook his head, his mouth curving in a wry grin as soon as his back was turned. He wondered just how blasé that guard would be if a pack of Hunters strolled through the door.

As soon as the thought occurred to him, though, his smile vanished. The threat of Hunters was no joke, no matter how absurd the situation. Ever since he had become a vampire, they had existed as the one true threat to his immortal existence, capable of exploiting his weaknesses and turning them against him. And it didn't matter how he had lived his life or how careful he was, because Hunters saw things not in shades of gray, but in stark black and white. To them, he would always be nothing more than a disease; a pestilence which needed to be exterminated, and sooner or later…they would find him.

And when that day arrived, there was no way that one lousy Rent-A-Cop was going to be able hold back a squad of trained killers.

Dave jabbed the elevator's "UP" button with his thumb. The brass-plated doors slid back instantly. The vampire stepped into the small compartment, pressing the button labeled "14". As the elevator began its slow ascent, he leaned back against one of its walls, closing his eyes. He had always been cautious; he had spent nearly ten years being cautious. He had embraced his vampire abilities, but he had also never quite relinquished his grip on his humanity. Memories faded, but the moral and ethical code of behavior he had picked up during his mortal life could not be so easily erased. Being a vampire essentially meant sharing space in your head with a beast. And the beast was always hungry. It thirsted for blood, and was willing to commit whatever cruelties it could to slake its thirst.

For Dave, the human side of him had always kept the beast in check. It had kept him from losing control and becoming little more than an animal. Because once you crossed that line, there was no going back. Once you gave in to the beast, the Hunters would find you. They would cut off your head, rip out your fangs, and then toss whatever remained into the sunlight to smolder. Dave knew that he wasn't human, but he liked to think that, deep down, he was still a _man_. And if the time ever came when he finally gave in to the beast, then he deserved to be put down like a dog.

The doors opened, jarring the vampire from his reverie. Dave stepped out of the elevator, and moved down the hall, the soles of his shoes making no noise on the plush carpet. He stopped in front of one door, its small brass sign reading "1417", and reached out to grasp the knob. It turned easily beneath his hand, but Dave was unconcerned. The door was on a timer: the lock engaged automatically just before sunrise and disengaged right after sunset. The door itself was reinforced with steel; once it was locked, a bomb would have been needed to get through.

The big man moved into the apartment. The corridor stretching out before him was dim, the only illumination coming from the room at its end. As Dave walked toward the source of the light, he heard the low whir and rumble of machinery. That sound—Melina must be closing the drapes.

Dave reached the end of the hallway and stepped out into the light. A few steps led down into a large living room area, decorated almost entirely in shades of white. White sofa, white armchairs, thick white carpeting. The coffee table itself was made out of glass. The only real color in the room came from several paintings adorning the walls; pieces of abstract art created from splashes of red and black paint.

Personally, Dave hated the paintings. He didn't get most art, especially that modern crap. Besides, there was something about them that unsettled him; something about their meaningless forms that he found disturbing.

Considering that he was a creature who needed to drink blood in order to survive, _that_ was saying something.

However, Dave's focus wasn't on the paintings, but on the window; the enormous plate-glass window that made up one wall of the room. Normally, it afforded a breathtaking view of the city, but at this moment, only a portion of that vista was visible, the urban landscape disappearing behind a set of massive black drapes. The pieces of heavy material met with a dull WHUMP, shutting out the outside world—along with the approaching deadly rays of the sun.

Dave's eyes slowly slid down to the female figure standing at the exact center of the window. She was short, barely over five feet, and couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds. Long black hair, streaked with blond, tumbled down her back, and her olive skin fairly glowed. She wore a short white babydoll dress, and there were white flowers in her hair. Her only jewelry was an intricate gold bracelet on her upper arm fashioned in the shape of a coiling snake. She held the stem of a wine glass between two fingers, the curved bowl of the glass cupped in her hand. From this distance, the liquid it contained looked like red wine…but Dave knew better.

Her back was to him, the sound of the drapes must have masked his approach to her—and yet the big man wasn't the least bit surprised when she suddenly spoke. "Dave…you're back." Her voice was a low sensual purr. She turned her head, affording him his first view of her face. There was no denying that she was beautiful, extraordinarily so—high cheekbones, full lips, dark brown eyes. But it was a cruel beauty, a cold beauty, one which was used solely for its owner's advantage, and Dave had no doubt that he was not the first one to fall prey to her charms. She radiated an aura of power and confidence that was both intoxicating and dangerous.

She was his lover, his protector, his sole confidante. She was the one who had graced him with the gift (and curse) of immortality. She was…

"Melina."

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Outwardly, Melina looked like just another stunning young woman in her twenties—but as Dave had learned time and time again when it came to vampires, looks could be deceiving. She never talked about her past—if anything, she shied away from the subject whenever it was broached—but it was the way she spoke, the casual manner in which she mentioned certain historical events that led him to believe she'd been walking this earth as an immortal long before he'd occupied it as a human. He had no idea how old she really was.

Dave was pretty sure that he knew more about her than anyone else—which, unfortunately, was almost nothing. It wasn't just that she was tight-lipped, but that he was equally reluctant to press her for any information. He knew that she was old, older than him. He knew that she was connected to some vague shadowy vampire council, one which supplied her with funds, which explained how she could purchase a lavish apartment like this one with some additional modifications. Anything more than that was just like those paintings on the wall: meaningless flashes of darkness and blood.

Maybe that was why he found the artwork so disturbing, because it reminded him of her. Just like Melina, it stared him in the face day after day and told him nothing. And just like her, it hinted at things that were far more sinister than its outer façade would suggest.

There was a dark side to Melina, a viciousness lurking just beneath the pristine surface of her face. Dave didn't know what she was capable of—no, that wasn't true. He had a pretty good idea what she was capable of; he just had no desire to find out for certain how deep her cruelty lay. He was like an ostrich, burying his head in the sand, trying to pretend that the beautiful woman sharing his bed wasn't a monster.

He knew that others might call him hypocritical for thinking this way; after all, it wasn't like he was a saint or anything. But there was simply no other word to describe what she was, _truly_. She was strong, possibly even stronger than him. While he eschewed attention, she craved it, actively seeking it out almost to the point of recklessness. And in all the time he had known her, she had always regarded the human race with complete and utter contempt. That contempt and his lack of it had always been the source of most of their fights; the fact that—unlike her—he still didn't view people as package of raw meat on a grocery store shelf. He knew that Melina wanted him to be as merciless as she was; anything less than that was merely a disappointment.

Their relationship had always been mercurial. More than once, Dave had stormed out after a major blow-out, threatening to never return. These departures varied in length, from a few days to almost a year. But they never lasted, because eventually, Melina always found him, offering the same apologies and assurances—and in the end, he always came back to her.

Dave supposed that he should hate himself for allowing himself to be lured back time and time again by the same false promises of change. He supposed that some would call him pussy-whipped, and they would be right. But he couldn't help it. Melina had sired him; he would always be connected to her, physically and emotionally. Besides, ever since he had become a vampire, life with her was the only life that he had ever really known; he couldn't imagine eternity without her entirely. So he stayed with her, caught in a ceaseless cycle of break-up and make-up; a _pas de deux_ of desire and disdainful affection that would forever bind them together and drive them apart.

Melina sauntered toward him, her hips swaying seductively from side to side as she moved. She halted just in front of him, reaching out with one hand to touch his arm. Her fingernails pressed lightly against his skin. "Did you eat, baby?" she asked.

Dave didn't answer at first; merely let his gaze drift subtly downward from her face to the pendant dangling from her neck. It was a gold ankh, on a long slender gold chain, the tapered end of the Egyptian symbol dipping down into the space between her ample breasts. The big man glanced back up, fixing his eyes on hers again. "Yeah…" he answered absently.

Just standing here, in Melina's presence, was incredibly distracting. He wanted her, and he could tell that the feeling was mutual. He could smell her desire; it was emanating from her body in waves, mingling with the sweet scent of her skin and driving him crazy. More than anything, he wanted to tear her clothes off and take her right here on the floor, but Dave held himself back. There were rules to this game, one which they had been playing together for a long time, and while the moves might be different each time, the outcome was always inevitably the same.

If Melina was at all annoyed by his overt ogling, she didn't show it. Instead, she made a soft sound in the back of her throat—barely audible, but derisive all the same. Her lips twitched, curving up into a smirk. "_Liar_." she murmured. For a second, her dark irises glinted red, but in the next instant, they had returned to normal. The diminutive vampire moved a step closer, until her body grazed his. She lifted the wine glass to her lips, taking a sip before continuing. "I don't smell it on you—don't tell me you had another crisis of conscience and let her get away." Her eyes, when they flicked upward to meet his, held only the barest trace of scorn.

Dave smiled, skillfully masking his irritation. One of the many things Melina excelled at was pissing him off while simultaneously turning him on. "Hardly." he replied. "Some nutcase walked into the bar and decided to use her for a punching bag."

"Hmm…" Melina cooed, sounding unconvinced. She took another sip from her glass, and Dave watched the contours of her throat undulate as she swallowed. "A _likely_ story," she added, and this time, the contempt in her tone was evident.

Dave almost told her about Mickie James at that moment; almost spilled all about the enigmatic young woman with the beautiful but damaged face. But at the last second, he hesitated. There was no way he could ever fully explain what it had been like to stand in her presence; it had been like being in the center of a mental mosh pit. Besides, even if he could, Melina wouldn't believe him. She would scoff at him, claiming that he was getting soft, that he was letting his mortal emotions get the better of him, that there was absolutely _nothing_ remarkable about Mickie James, that she was _just another human_.

Dave might not be as old or as experienced as Melina, and true, his encounter with Mickie _had_ lasted only a minute or two. But he was pretty sure—_damn_ sure, in fact—that Ms. James was a whole lot more than _just another human_. That, as dangerous as she might be, there was something about her that was equally fascinating. And for some reason—one which he didn't really understand—he wanted to keep that fascination to himself.

So the big man kept his mouth shut, choosing instead to gaze at his lover, the smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. Melina looked back at him, her brown eyes narrowing. Her stare had become scrutinizing, the smirk gone from her lips. She must have sensed that he was hiding something from her, and right now, it must be killing her, knowing that there was no way she could confirm her suspicions without asking him flat out.

Just like some of the humans that they hunted, vampires couldn't hear each other's thoughts.

Dave figured it was a fair trade-off, considering that he acted as a radio receiver for pretty much every human being on the planet. But it had also always bothered him, _especially_ when it came to Melina. It was frustrating, drowning in the petty insignificant musings of a thousand people he didn't know night after night, only to come home and run headlong into a dam of maddeningly impenetrable silence from _her_.

For Melina, it was a quirk of nature that she exploited to her advantage, using it as yet another way of maintaining the dominant position in their relationship. Between that, the ability to hide her true feelings behind a blank indifferent mask, and a habit of mixing lies with the truth, she projected a wall of duplicity that Dave had been unable to break through in all the years he had known her. On more than one occasion, he would have given anything to know what she was _really_ thinking, and now, it was nice to be on the other side for a change.

Melina's countenance didn't change, but her hand that held the wine glass began to tremble, and Dave knew that he would have to cut this little game short, or risk unleashing her wrath. His lover was a control freak; she hated admitting that something was beyond her grasp, no matter how worthless or insignificant the facet of information might be. Pretty soon, her curiosity would give way to frustration, which in turn would become annoyance.

And if Dave let it get that far, he ran a good chance of having something heavy thrown at his head before the sun rose.

The vampire looked away, casting a questioning glance at the surrounding space. "So…" he began, smoothly changing the subject. "Where's Thing One and Thing Two?" He tried to keep his tone light, but despite his efforts, he couldn't prevent a note of dislike from creeping into his voice.

At hearing this, Melina visibly relaxed, her smirk reappearing. His faint show of disapproval must have pleased her, because Dave felt the reins of control subtly shift back into her possession. The brunette shrugged, taking another sip from her glass. "Feeding, raising hell…who knows? I'm not their babysitter." She paused, eying the big man, the rim of the glass resting against her bottom lip. "But don't worry, baby—they're good boys. They'll be back before the sun's up."

Dave rolled his eyes. "Oh goody," he muttered sarcastically under his breath.

"But until they do…" Melina continued sweetly, as though he hadn't said anything. She paused for a moment, parting her lips to reveal her whitened fangs. Slowly, deliberately, she caressed the tapered edge of one with her tongue. Dave felt his mouth grow dry, and he swallowed hard. Melina gazed up at him, her face a portrait of innocence, but the gleam in her dark eyes anything but. "Whatever shall we do to pass the time?" she finished.

Dave felt his stomach clench. Already, he was so hard that it hurt—but then again, she probably already knew that. He reached out, taking hold her chin and gently tilting her head up. Moving a little closer, he dipped his head down to kiss her. Melina's eyes drifted closed, her lips parted to receive his…but just as he was about to connect, she averted her face, so that his intended kiss landed on her jaw. Raising her glass, she took a generous swallow from her drink. "I mean, I can think of a _few_ things," she added, as though she had no idea what she was doing to him, as though this conversation was completely innocuous. Her gaze swung toward him, flicking briefly down to his erection before back up to his face. "But then again, you probably just want to tell the story about how you let your prey get away. _Again_." Now she was mocking him, openly goading him into a reaction, and as her words fell on his ears, Dave felt his need cross the threshold of no return.

Melina lifted her glass for another sip, but the big man abruptly grabbed her wrist before she could complete the motion. With his other hand, he pried the wine glass from her grasp, raising it to his own lips and draining its contents. The blood was warm; not as hot as it would be directly from a vein, but warm enough to send a thrill of satisfaction through his massive frame as the beast was (temporarily) sated. He tossed the glass aside, where it bounced harmlessly against the thick carpet, before turning his attention back to his lover.

Melina didn't struggle, even though she could have broken his grip easily if she wanted to. Instead, she met his eyes with an expression that was more challenging than afraid, as though daring him to take her, daring him to _dominate_ her. Her smugness was infuriating, and without warning, Dave grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her to him and capturing her mouth in a kiss.

The instant that their lips met, Melina let out a low animal-like growl and clung to him, molding her body against his. Her mouth melted open, her tongue darting between his lips to caress his. Her hands clenched the fabric of his shirt, and with a sudden swift motion, she tore the shirt open, running her hands down his bare chest. Dave bit back a sharp hiss of pain as her fingernails raked his skin.

He moved his hands lower, groaning as they encountered the supple curves of her body. Whoever had said that vampires were cold-blooded had obviously never met one: he could feel the heat of Melina's skin burning through her dress. Normally, he took his time with this part, savoring each moment as just another move in the game, but right now, he was tired of games. _He wanted her_, period.

As though she sensed his intentions, Melina pulled back a little. He could feel her smile against his mouth. "_Rip it,_" she whispered fiercely, and Dave obliged. The flimsy dress gave way easily, fluttering down to the carpet in a gauzy cloud of white. The female vampire stepped back, giving Dave the opportunity to remove his shredded shirt, but also, to admire her.

She wore no underwear; with the exception of the necklace and bracelet, she was completely naked. Her body was perfect, like those ideals of beauty that the Greeks and Roman carved centuries before. Maybe she had been their inspiration. Melina turned, giving him an equally exquisite view from the back, and moved toward the center of the room, beckoning for him to follow. Dave did so; he had never been able to refuse her. He had never been able to _resist_ her.

Melina climbed onto the glass coffee table, stretching out face-up on its surface, displaying herself to him. Dave approached the table hesitantly, kneeling down at its side, casting a single hungry glance over the length of her nude body. It was as though she was a holy offering, and she was inviting him to worship at her feet. He could feel her eyes boring into him. "Do it," she whispered. "You want me…so take me."

So he did.

He started with her neck, laying kisses along the line of her throat, nipping teasingly at her skin with his fangs. Then he moved down to her breasts, taking first one in his mouth, and then the other, swirling his tongue around their peaks, feeling her nipples harden beneath his touch. Melina let out a low cry of pleasure, arching her back slightly off the table. But Dave wasn't finished; he moved lower, kissing her abdomen, her navel. He paused at the juncture between her legs, exploring lightly with his fingers to gauge the terrain. She was wet, ready for him to take her—and he _would_.

But not just yet.

The big man shifted position, taking hold of her legs and slowly pushing them apart. Pulling her body closer, he buried his face between her legs, sliding his tongue into her. Melina's gasps of rapture became loud moans, and she writhed beneath his touch. Dave continued to pleasure her, sorry only that he couldn't see her face, couldn't see her relinquish herself to the sensations flooding her body. Melina might have been a vampire, but she was also still a _woman_.

He felt her body tremble, as sense blurred with sensation, where soon, she would no longer be able to withstand the pleasure slowly claiming her. Dave abruptly stopped, pulling back and fumbling with his belt. Melina's olive skin was covered with a faint sheen of sweat. Her eyes—hazy with desire—locked onto his, and he knew that her thoughts mirrored his. He had brought her to the brink of ecstasy; now they would cross it together, as he buried himself deep inside her…

All of a sudden, he froze, his body tensing. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing straight up, and he _knew_—with the preternatural instinct all vampires possess—that he and Melina were no longer alone. As though to punctuate this, he heard a low chuckle from the far corner of the room, followed by: "_That's_ right, Dave—show her how big a _man_ you are. Make her _scream_."

The big man sprang to his feet, his lips pulling back from his fangs in a snarl. The front hallway was still dark, but that made no difference: he could see the two figures standing in its shadows as clearly as if they'd been illuminated by daylight. One of them was tall, with model-good looks and long brown hair, a pair of aviator sunglasses covering his eyes. The other was slightly shorter, with slightly cartoonish features and bulging blue eyes. His hair was spiked up into a short Mohawk. Both of them were staring at him and Melina with absolutely no shame.

Dave gritted his teeth, trying to keep his rage in check. He'd been hoping that today would be the day these two would get a little careless and end up as crispy critters, but apparently, that was not to be the case. The "boys" had returned home.

The last time Dave had left Melina, their separation had lasted nearly eleven months, the longest they had ever been apart. He knew the script of their break-up and reconciliation by heart; therefore, he was shocked when the female vampire tracked him down with those two in tow. In keeping with her personality, Melina never told him anything about them, other than that their names were Miz and Morrison, and they would be joining his and her little "family". Dave had agreed, thinking that eventually, she would grow tired of them and send them packing.

That had been three years ago.

Since then, the initial distrust that Dave had harbored had grown into full-blow dislike, and he knew that the feeling was mutual. He didn't like the way Melina fussed over them, in a manner that was part mother, part whore, and he didn't like the way they fawned at her feet like a couple of adoring puppies. More than once, Melina had had to physically prevent him and Miz from tearing each other's throats out. Right now, the four of them managed to coexist in a kind of uneasy truce, but Dave knew that this peace wasn't destined to last. The hatred he felt for both of them—and them for him—was the kind of relentless animosity whose resolution would only come at the death of one or all of them.

Miz was the one who had spoken, and he continued, his pupils flashing red in the dark recess of the corridor. "Don't mind us, dude; we're just enjoying the show."

Dave's dark eyes narrowed to small slits. "Fuck you, you little shit," he growled. "Get the fuck outta here!"

Miz's face twisted into a sneer. "Or _what_, dude?" The younger vampire took a step forward. "You'll _make_ me?" His stare shifted slightly, focusing on the nude figure of Melina displayed on the coffee table. "You honestly think that _you're_ the one with the balls in this relationship—"

"You shut your fucking mouth!" Dave roared, lunging toward Miz. Before his hands could close around the other vampire's throat, however, a blur of olive skin and dark hair came between them, holding him back.

The heel of Melina's hand dug into his chest, and even though it was small, he could feel the power it contained. The female vampire fixed him with a glare. "_Stop it_," she commanded. "Can't you two get along for five seconds?" Before Dave could ask what was essentially a rhetorical question, she turned toward Miz. "Miz, you and Mor go to your room, okay?" Her voice fell, dropping down to a seductive murmur that made Dave's skin crawl. "If you're _good_…I'll come and tuck you in before you go to sleep."

He couldn't see the expression on Melina's face, but the look of sick adoration that crept across Miz's made him want to vomit. The younger vampire shrugged. "Whatever you say, Mel." His gaze swung insolently back to Dave. "Have fun fucking her, big man."

At this, Dave almost lost it again, and it was only with every modicum of self-restraint he possessed that he was able to keep himself in check. Instead, he clenched his teeth as the pair strolled out of sight down a side hallway to their room. As soon as the door clicked shut softly behind them, Melina whirled around, her countenance furious. "Why do you always have to give them such a hard time?" she demanded. "They just want to watch."

Dave met her gaze without flinching, vaguely aware that he would not even be having this kind of conversation if he was still human. "They give me the creeps," he finally replied. "It's like having your dogs watch you—except dogs don't know any better." He looked away, staring at a spot above her head. "Why do you keep them around, anyway?"

Melina adopted a mock pout, twirling a lock of hair absently around her finger, as though this conversation was perfectly normal and she wasn't totally naked. "Because every girl needs a pet—and those little yappy dogs are so fucking annoying. At least _those_ two are housebroken." When this quip failed to crack a smile from the big man, she scowled. "Look, are you gonna spend all night bitching about my boys…or are you gonna finish what you started?"

Dave didn't answer; his mind was still on Miz, on what would happen the day Melina wouldn't be around to intervene…

The female vampire sighed impatiently. "_Fine_. If you're gonna be that way, then I'm gonna go knock on their door, and see if one of _them_ wants to finish me off!" She spun around on her heel, but had only gone a few paces when Dave grabbed her shoulder, whirling her back around and shoving her against the wall.

"You want finishing off?" he growled. With his free hand, he unbuckled his belt, unzipping his fly. "I'll fucking finish you off!"

A quick glance at Melina's face told him that she was startled, but not scared. And in a moment, that too burned away, leaving behind only raw animal lust. "Do it, then," the diminutive brunette whispered. "_Fuck me._"

Dave lifted her up, wedging himself between her legs and thrusting into her. His rhythm was hard, relentless, each press of his hips slamming her against the wall. Red had clamped down over his vision, turning everything around him the hue of blood. The beast had taken over; however, its lust wasn't for blood, but for _her_, to possess _her_, to dominate _her_.

Melina's moans grew louder as his rhythm intensified. She dug her nails into his back, scratching hard enough to draw blood. Dave ducked his head down, nuzzling aside the heated weight of her hair to press his lips to her neck. Her pulse was racing; she must be nearing the moment of release. With a low snarl of desire, he sank his fangs into her throat.

Melina screamed, her body convulsing as she climaxed. Her blood splashed onto his tongue, hot and coppery, bringing with it flashes of images and sounds, a jumble of memory and fantasy and emotion that almost overwhelmed him. The truth was always in the blood—and in Melina's case, it was the closest thing to the truth he would ever get from her.

As Dave felt his own orgasm claim him, however, his mind was no longer on the beautiful woman he was fucking, but on another one, one whose thoughts were as loud as Melina's were silent. He wondered what her blood was like, what truths it would reveal. Was there meaning to be found in its sharp coppery tang, coherence in the tangle of images it contained? Or would it scorch his tongue, just as her aura had nearly deafened him?

What was Mickie James hiding—and why did he care?


	4. Chapter 4: Far From Fine

**A/N: Okay, sorry, sorry, I'm a procrastinator and a horrible updater. What can I say--my schedule has been absolutely horrendous since the school semester started. But this IS a new chapter, so yay for small mercies! Enjoy! Peace!**

**Thank you to **Hailey Egan, Esha Napoleon, Crystal 5996, Ashleymassarophan1, **and **x Ashlynn13 x **for reviewing the last chapter! Dare I say it? I'm going to say it--you guys are AWESOME!

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Chapter 3: Far From Fine

Dave stopped in front of the bar, staring up at the red neon letters spelling out "The Viper's Pit". One of the "I"s was flickering, dimming and brightening intermittently, and he wondered briefly if it was trying to tell him something; trying to convey the same message that his common sense had been screaming at him for the past half-hour: that he shouldn't be here.

Dave didn't disagree; after what had transpired the previous evening, the last place in the world he needed to be was right back here at the Viper's Pit. Last night, his goal had been to remain anonymous; instead he had intervened in a big way, involving himself in a situation where he didn't belong—a set of circumstances that, at least on the surface, he wanted no part in.

The best way to evade the Hunters had always been staying under the radar—which meant avoiding attention-attracting psychos. So unless he wanted to wind up _sans_ head, he could do well to forget everything he had seen last night; forget the bar, forget the altercation...

Forget Mickie James.

But even as the vampire accepted this sound reasoning, his feet apparently had other plans, because as soon as he stepped outside, they took control, pulling him down the combination of streets that had led him to the Viper's Pit in the first place. And as much as he tried to tell himself this was _stupid_, this was _crazy_, this was going to get him _killed_—it wasn't enough of a reason to stop his body from acting under its own volition, pushing the front door open and stepping into the shadowy interior of the bar.

The place was less crowded than it had been the night before; the only customers were a few regulars seated at the bar. That blond kid Ted was tending bar tonight, busying himself with cleaning glasses. His gaze flicked up, regarding Dave with disinterest before focusing back on his task once more. However, an instant later, he looked up again, with considerably more interest this time, and there was no mistaking the recognition that flashed across his face.

Dave grimaced inwardly. _Shit_. Being noticed was one thing—with his size and build, it was almost inevitable that he would turn heads. But being _recognized_…that was another beast entirely. If someone recognized you, that meant—in some small way—that they remembered you…which meant that it would make the Hunters' job only that much easier to track you down. Next, this kid would be coming up to him, wanting to make small talk about last night's incident.

If he had a brain in his skull, he should turn around right now, leave this place, find another dive on the other side of town, find some pretty little blond thing to feed on, then call it an early night and head back to the apartment. But the vampire did none of these things. Instead, he moved toward the back of the bar, ignoring the curious stares of Ted and the other patrons, and taking a seat at the table furthest from the door.

Dave leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. He wasn't tired; instead, he was merely giving his vampire senses the chance to explore. He had seen all that he needed to see in here…now it was time to _listen_. He mentally located the volume knob on his telepathic ability, gently ratcheting it up a few notches until the thoughts of the bar's other occupants came into clear focus.

A few seconds of eavesdropping, however, proved to be disappointing. Dave heard a plethora of emotions, among them mild curiosity and a faint murmur of suspicion—but it was all commonplace, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing unusual.

In other words, no tortured scream of a damaged soul. No howling storm of emotion which signaled the arrival of the mysterious Miss James…

The sudden scrape of a chair against the linoleum floor startled the vampire out of his reverie. He opened his eyes to see Randy ease his lean frame into the chair directly opposite his, two bottles of beer in hand. The Viper's Pit owner nodded in greeting, sliding one of the bottles across the table to Dave. "For last night—since you never cashed in on that free drink offer."

The vampire accepted the beer cautiously. The cap had already been removed, and he could tell from the cool moisture of the glass beneath his fingertips that the beverage was nice and cold. Slowly, without taking his eyes off of Randy, Dave raised the bottle to his lips. As he took his first swig of the malted brew (it _was_ nice and cold), the bar's owner uttered one additional remark: "Best I could do on short notice—I'm fresh out of O Positive."

At this, Dave choked on his beer, almost spitting the liquid out all over the table. He swallowed with effort, slamming the bottle down on the table as he struggled to get his coughing back under control. His eyes shot up, latching onto Randy's, their dark depths simmering with obvious distrust.

Randy stared back at him with what could have been amusement. "Dude, you should see the look on your face right now." His expression sobered just a touch. "I saw the way you moved across the bar last night—nothing human can move that fast."

Randy leaned back, and Dave's ears picked up the faint rustle of denim as he crossed one leg over the other. "You don't have to worry, man…your secret's safe with me." The other man spread his arms wide, indicating the entire bar. "Me—I'm an equal opportunity guy. I really don't give a damn _what_ you are, so long as you mind your own business and don't start any trouble." Randy leaned forward again, smiling. However, just like last night, the smile didn't quite reach his eyes, which remained icy and calculating. "So…" the Viper's Pit owner remarked. "When are you going to ask me about Mickie James?"

Fortunately, Dave hadn't taken another sip of beer; otherwise, he would have choked on that one as well. It was enough of a struggle keeping the shock from registering on his face. It was bad enough that, try as he might, he still couldn't read this guy. He had already tried twice in the past few minutes to use his telepathy to probe the other man's mind, and both times, he had encountered a soundless black void, one that tamped down over his senses like a heavy blanket. Randy, on the other hand, seemed to have no problem reading _him_. In some ways, it was like talking to Melina. It struck Dave suddenly that Melina and this guy would have been perfect for each other.

As time slowly ticked by, Dave could feel his instinctual dislike of the other man crystallizing into a solid realization. He didn't like Randy—but more than that, he didn't _trust _him. Maybe he couldn't read the other man's thoughts, but nevertheless, he was picking up an air of superiority from Randy; a sense of singular loyalty. He had a feeling that the Viper's Pit owner never did anything or helped anyone without first calculating how it would benefit _him_.

Dave could only hope that the day would never come when he would have to put all of his trust on _this_ guy.

The vampire didn't answer at first; merely leaned back in his chair, his gaze never wavering from Randy's. His tone, when he did speak, was neutral. "What makes you think I came here to talk about her?"

Randy smiled again, a self-satisfied grin that suited his face far better than the false smile preceding it. "Because you've got _that_ _look_ on your face; like you just found a puzzle you can't _wait_ to solve." The bar's owner leaned back again, taking a casual sip from his own beer. "I've seen a lot a guys with that look on their face—lot of guys who want to solve the mystery of Mickie James." Randy tilted his head to the side, studying the vampire with clinical interest. "And I'll tell you the same thing I tell them—unless you want your hand bitten off at the wrist, stay the hell away from her." His tone was light, pleasant, but there was a faint note of challenge lurking at its edges, as though he was daring Dave to do just the opposite.

Slowly, feeling a bit like a gunslinger in one of those old Westerns, Dave reached over, taking hold of his beer once more, and taking a generous swallow from it. "What's the matter?" he asked after several seconds had elapsed, his voice just as subtly insolent as Randy's. "She got a boyfriend?"

Randy laughed at this, a dry humorless sound that echoed off the walls and caused the other patrons to turn around on their stools. "Boyfriend?" the Viper's Pit owner managed to reply when he had gotten himself back under control. "_Mickie_? You've seen that face of hers?" Dave's only response was a curt nod. Randy went on. "Well, she's got a personality to match. Truth is…"

The bar's owner leaned forward, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "Truth is, Mickie doesn't have much of _anything_ anymore. She staggered in here about three years ago." Randy shrugged. "I guess you could say that I've been _taking care_ of her ever since."

Something in his voice, something in the way he said "taking care" grated on Dave's ears like the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard. The vampire took another sip, trying not to clench his teeth as he spoke. "What happened to her?"

If Randy noticed Dave's annoyance, he chose not to acknowledge it. Instead, the Viper's Pit owner shrugged again. "I'd tell you to ask her yourself—but I don't think she'd take very kindly to you."

"Why not?" Dave asked, masking his irritation only with effort. He was battling a serious temptation to punch this guy right in the face.

A cynical half-smile touched the corner of Randy's mouth. "Nothing personal, dude…but she hates vamps." A pause. "How else do you think her face ended up like that?"

Awareness hit Dave like a slap in the face, almost knocking him back. As he struggled to comprehend this, Randy looked past him, uttering a low whistle of appreciation. "_Speaking _of faces…" the bar's owner remarked.

Dave turned toward the source of Randy's leering, his dark eyes widening in surprise when he saw Kelly standing in the doorway. The blond girl was dressed in a low-cut pink minidress, clutching her purse to her protectively with both hands, her pretty face a portrait of bewildered apprehension. Even at this distance, though, and even covered by a layer of makeup, Dave could still make out the dark bruise marring her jaw.

He wondered what she was doing here alone, without her bevy of companions. It wasn't until she saw him, and her features relaxed in relief, that he realized she'd probably been wondering the same thing.

Dave felt a hand come down on his shoulder. He glanced up at Randy, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "One more thing, man," the Viper's Pit owner drawled, that same self-satisfied smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. The vampire looked at him expectantly. "Take it outside. As you might have figured out last night—bite marks are bad for business."

* * *

Dave pushed Kelly up against the brick wall, devouring the sweet softness of her lips. The blond girl moaned softly, arching her back, pressing her supple body against his.

The two of them were in an alley, only a block or two from the Viper's Pit. As he'd surmised last night, it hadn't taken much coaxing to get Kelly to leave with him, or to detour to this alley for a little bit of making-out. The vampire wondered how much more persuasion it would have taken to get inside her panties—presuming, of course, that was what he was after.

Kelly _was_ beautiful; even a blind person could have discovered _that_. But she was also very young, a puppy even by human terms. And as Dave had unfortunately found out when he walked over to introduce himself, she apparently didn't know how to shut up.

At all.

Sure enough, as the vampire broke off the kiss, sliding his lips along the delicate line of her jaw, Kelly sucked in a breath and resumed chattering. "I couldn't stop thinking about you!" she babbled, clinging to him. "All night, all I could think about was the way you looked at me, and then then when you stepped in and saved me—"

"Hmm…" Dave murmured, not really listening. He was too distracted by the sound of her heartbeat, its rapid rhythmic pulse drowning out the shrillness of her voice. He moved down to her neck, feeling her pulse throb beneath his mouth. Dave's lips drew back from his teeth, exposing his fangs. He opened his mouth, letting the pointed edges of his canines graze her skin.

Kelly didn't notice; she was still talking. "I can't believe that psycho _bitch_—"

Her words ended in a surprised shriek as Dave sank his fangs into her neck. The blond girl struggled, trying to free herself from his embrace, but gradually, unconsciousness claimed her and her body went limp.

Dave gathered her to him, savoring the sweet taste of her blood. He could felt the beast inside him, roaring with delight, urging him to keep going, to sate his hunger completely, to take her life along with her blood—

The vampire pulled back with a low gasp, his eyes scanning Kelly's face. Her eyes were closed; her skin was a few shades paler than before. Dave lifted her up, pressing his ear against her chest, frantically listening for the sound of her heartbeat. For a few awful seconds, he was sure that he had gone too far this time, but then he heard a slow ceaseless thud, and realized that she was still alive.

Dave held her close, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I'm sorry, Kelly," he whispered into her hair, his voice faltering. "I'm so sorry…" After several long moments, he reluctantly lowered her to the ground, propping her up against the brick wall. The thought of just leaving her here made him sick, but what else could he do? Carry her to the nearest hospital? Wait until she woke up? This hunger, this need to feed on others was his curse, and unfortunately for Kelly, she had become yet another to fall victim to that hunger.

The vampire touched her cheek, pushing her golden hair back from her face. He reached out with his mind, speaking to hers, which even when unconscious, could still hear him.

_Forget…forget all of this…forget me…_

Dave bit his lip, feeling a surge of deep sorrow well up inside him, and he bowed his head, letting his hand fall back down to his side. As he did so, a bolt of emotion slammed into him, like a burst of harsh static across a radio station.

The vampire reeled, almost falling over, catching himself only at the last moment. He looked toward the mouth of the alley, just in time to catch a flicker of shadow as someone moved out of sight. He hadn't seen who it was—but then again, only one mind sounded like that. And if Dave wanted some answers, his only option was to follow the echoes of that aura to its source.

Pulling himself to his feet, and pressing one hand to his head, the vampire strode out of the alley, chasing silently after a mind that was anything but.

* * *

It didn't take him long to catch up with her, but Dave hung back, staying in the shadows, making sure to keep a considerable amount of distance between him and Mickie. Doing so allowed him to study him, without the crush of a hundred other patrons surrounding them.

Mickie was dressed very much as she'd been the previous night—all black, scarf around the neck, hair shoved up under her cadet hat. Her movements were swift, decisive, with no evidence of fear or apprehension, even though she was a young woman walking alone at night. As he watched her, Dave thought back to his conversation with Randy; to the cryptic comment the Viper's Pit owner had offered as an explanation…

_Nothing personal, dude…but she hates vamps… How else do you think her face ended up like that?_

Mickie halted abruptly, jarring the vampire from his thoughts. The two of them were on a narrow side street, a few operation streetlights providing the only illumination. The brunette had stopped under one of these lights, its yellow glow spilling down around her. Dave moved further back into the darkness, his eyes still fixed on her.

He saw her chin lift, and without turning around, she spoke: "I know you're there. I can hear you."

Dave didn't move, didn't _breathe_, thinking that maybe she was just bluffing, that she didn't know he was behind her, that she _couldn't_ know—but her next comment quickly dispelled that hope: "You vamps are all alike; you think that just because you move faster than everyone else, I can't hear your fucking footsteps." Slowly, Mickie turned around, the light hitting the brim of her cap and casting her face in shadow. The brunette continued, her alto voice softer this time: "So why don't you be a _man_ and come out where I can see you?"

Dave knew now that he no longer had a choice—not if he hoped to get any answers out of the elusive Miss James. Reluctantly, the vampire stepped out of the shadows, moving into a pool of light cast by a streetlamp a yard or two from Mickie's.

The brunette cocked her head to the side slightly, and Dave got the distinct impression that she was studying him, scrutinizing him with the same intensity that he had her. When she spoke, her tone was thoughtful, but no less frigid: "I know you…you were in the bar last night. You stopped me from breaking that Barbie Doll's jaw." Even though Dave couldn't see her eyes, he could still feel the weight of her gaze on him. Mickie tilted her head to the other side, going on. "And now you're following me. What's the matter?" Her voice became taunting, confrontational. "One look wasn't enough for you last night? Here…let me give you a second—"

She grabbed hold of her cadet cap, and with one brusque motion, pulled it off, allowing her golden-brown hair to spill down past her shoulders. The light hit the curves and planes of her face, illuminating it perfectly. Dave inadvertently drew in a breath. He had known what to expect—he had seen it last night—but somehow, that didn't make this second look any less unsettling.

Four thick white scars ran diagonally over Mickie's face, starting at her left temple, and ending somewhere around the right side of her jaw. There was no one part of her face left unmarked by these scars: one cut across the bridge of her nose, another bisected her full lips. One scar ran directly over one of her brown eyes; it was probably a small miracle that she hadn't lost the sight in that one.

The thing of it was, she was still beautiful. Once he looked at the scars, and accepted that they were there, that they would _always_ be there—they seemed to melt away, leaving behind only the delicate lines of her face. It wasn't that she _used to be_ beautiful, but that she still _was_—and perhaps that was even more tragic, because no guy would ever look any further than the white lines cutting across her face.

No guy, except for him—and he wasn't exactly her type.

Up close, and with only a few seconds to assess the damage, it was easy to weave explanations for why Mickie's features bore such an unusual pattern of scars. From a distance, however, Dave could examine her face as a whole, and it didn't take him long to come to the only possible conclusion: someone, some_thing_ had tried to use her face as a scratching post.

_How else do you think her face ended up like that?..._

Dave felt sickened, but not because of her face. He had always known that there were monsters out there; other vampires who, unlike him, lived without rules, without morals. However, it was easy to forget about the monsters when you didn't come face-to-face with their handiwork, with the ruined souls that they left in their wake. Mickie's face…it was awful, it was horrible—but it was probably also the least of her suffering.

He had a feeling that her pain went a whole lot deeper than scar tissue.

Mickie, however, must have mistaken his pained expression for disgust, because her own countenance hardened. "And that's just my _face_," she snapped, spitting out each word. "You should see the rest of my body."

Dave tried to speak; found that he couldn't. "What…" God, it was a struggle just getting the _words_ out. "What…_happened_…to you?"

Mickie threw her head back, letting out a harsh emotionless laugh. "It's a long story—and one I'm _definitely _not sharing with a vamp."

"Look," Dave took a step toward her, taking care to remain within the circle of light. "Whatever you think about me, believe me, I'm not like that—"

"Oh, so you're _not_ a vampire?" Mickie shot back. Down at her side, her hand twitched; her fingers flexing and curling into a fist. "And that _wasn't_ you I saw pulling a Count Dracula on Little Miss Sorority Princess back there in the alley?"

"I didn't hurt her!" Dave retorted. He was practically shouting by now, and as soon as the words passed between his lips, he winced at how empty they sounded. "She's fine!" Another wince.

"How do you know?" Mickie hadn't moved, and neither had he, but somehow, the space around them seemed to have shrunk. Even though he was standing six or seven feet away, he felt like he was right next to her.

Dave moved his mouth, struggling to find the words. "She's not dead—" he began, but Mickie quickly cut him off.

"_Neither am I_." The brunette's voice was clipped and cold. "And I think we can both agree that I'm pretty fucking far from _fine_." She fell silent.

Dave stared back at her, a jumbled combination of emotions fighting for dominance in his head. There was nothing he could say, no argument he could make, that would outweigh the emotional power of Mickie's few terse words—or the white scar tissue marring her face. They were worlds apart, they would _always_ be worlds apart. He was a vampire and she was a human. He was a monster, and she was a damaged survivor. There was nothing either one of them could say or do to make the other understand, but yet…

But yet…

Why was Mickie still standing here? For that matter, why was _he_? And why, as she stood there glaring at him, were the screaming voices inside her silent? He was a vamp, a monster—he was the reason, however indirectly, that she was damaged.

So why wasn't she afraid of him?

The two of them stood there, eying each other warily, for several minutes. Finally, Mickie heaved an impatient sigh, putting her cadet hat back on, covering her face once more. "Whatever," the brunette remarked sarcastically. "Why am I even arguing with a fucking bloodsucker—"

In an instant, Dave closed the distance between them, grabbing her arm and pulling her back toward him. "Mickie, wait—"

He never saw her go for the gun, only saw a flash of metal and heard the CLICK of the hammer being pulled back. The gun barrel dug into his forehead, and a second, all he could focus on was it. Through his haze of stunned surprise, he heard Mickie's voice filtering up toward him: "_Don't. Even. Think. About. It. _This thing is loaded with silver bullets—and don't think I won't put one right between your eyes."

Dave obediently froze, trying not to stare at the barrel of the gun, or think about what one shot to the head would do to him. As he did, he heard Mickie's voice again; not in his ears, but rather…in his head. Before, her voice had been icy, emotionless, but now it sounded almost…_pleading._

_Please…don't make me do it…These aren't meant for you…_

The words tumbled out of Dave's mouth before he could stop himself. "Who are they for, then?"

He heard a sharp hiss of surprise, and for one terrifying second, he was sure that Mickie was going to shoot him. But instead, the brunette suddenly pulled the gun back, dropping it down to her side. She pointed at him with her other hand, and Dave could see for the first time that she was shaking. "Stay out of my fucking head!" Mickie ordered fiercely, her voice a tightly controlled whisper. "Just…stay away from _me_, _period_—or I swear to God that I _will_ blow your head off."

She backed away from him slowly, before turning and sprinting down the street. Dave listened to her departure, until even the sound of her footsteps was no longer audible. At that point, he sank down to his knees, bending over and pressing both hands against the sidewalk.

_Are you happy now?..._his common sense scolded him. _We could have been across town, drinking beer and listening to Skid Row, but no—you choose tonight, TONIGHT, to have a gun pressed to your head! Are you happy—ARE YOU HAPPY NOW? You know what they say about curiosity and the cat…_

"Yeah, well, I'm no goddamn cat," Dave grumbled, easing his massive frame back into an upright position. Once up, he stared down the dark street, picturing the fleeing form of Mickie James.

He _should_ stay away—she had told him as much. After all, what could be clearer than a loaded gun pointed at your head? But at the same time—there was something about her, some intangible quality that was both frightening and intoxicating.

Something had hurt her. Something had attacked her, bruised her, damaged her—but not broken her. She was marred, the cracks in her were evident—but she was still whole. Her soul might be screaming with despair, but in some ways, she was one of the most fiercely alive beings he had ever met. She was—there were no other words to describe her; she just _was._

He _should _stay away—but somehow, even then, Dave knew that it wasn't going to be that simple.


	5. Chapter 5: This Is Hell

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I have to apologize; this chapter is coming about a week later than I wanted, but I had a busy week, culminating in an entire weekend of filming. Also, it was kind of an emotional drainer for me to write. But it is finished, and posted, and so hopefully enjoy! Peace!**

**Thank you to **Hailey Egan, Esha Napoleon, x Ashlynn13 x, Ashleymassarophan1, **and **Nastygrl25 **for reviewing the last chapter! You are AWESOME! Thank you so much and I love you all!

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Chapter 4: This Is Hell

She had spent her entire life running.

For Mickie James, nothing summed up the whole of her existence better than the metaphor of a lengthy foot race. As a child, there had been the usual race toward adolescence; then as a teenager, the race toward adulthood. Even achieving that stage, however, still hadn't been enough to satisfy her; as an adult, she'd remained impatient, still sprinting toward the next phase of her life, confident that nothing—save her own doubts and fears—could possibly stand in her way.

But then, one night, she'd been proven wrong. That night, three years ago, the world she understood to be true changed forever—and the race that was her life came crashing to a halt.

For a long time, Mickie had believed that she was still sprawled out on that imaginary race track, lying where she had fallen, listening to the footfalls of the other racers as they pounded past her. It hadn't been until tonight, until her finger had tightened on the trigger but not pulled it, that she'd realized she was still running.

No longer running toward a goal, however. No, for the past three years…she'd been running away. Running from what had happened that night, but also…from herself, from what she was becoming.

Was that why she hadn't been able to pull the trigger? When she'd looked in that vamp's dark eyes, had she seen _something_—some sense of solidarity—that she identified with? Something she _understood_?

That was ridiculous; she had seen him in the alley with that girl. She had watched silently as he drank his fill, and then dumped her on the ground like a piece of trash. Maybe he hadn't killed that blond bimbo, but that didn't make him any better than the rest of them. In some ways, what he had done was even worse, because even if that girl remembered nothing about tonight, her life would still never be the same.

Just as Mickie's had never been the same.

Her hand stole to the small of her back, a momentary feeling of solace falling over her as she touched the holster's smooth leather surface, the gun's cool textured metal, Unbelievable: the first bloodsucker she'd encountered in three years—and she hadn't killed him. The gun had been pressed to his forehead, there was no way she could have missed…but yet, when that crucial second came, she'd been unable to pull the trigger.

Why, she didn't know. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it had been her reluctance to kill _anyone_—even a vamp—on a public street. Or maybe it was because she'd heard a voice in her head, a persistent little facet of herself that kept telling her not to pull the trigger. Whatever the reason, it didn't change the result. In the end, she had done what she had been doing ever since that night—run away.

Her only consolation was that she had gotten away this time, but really, what did it matter? After what she had endured, the only thing worse was death—and death was something that she welcomed every single day.

The creak of the floorboards beneath her feet snapped the brunette out of her reverie, returning her to the present. She was standing outside of a second-floor apartment, located at the top of a flight of dimly-lit stairs. The whole place had seen better days; hence the squeaky floorboards and lack of sufficient lighting. It was quiet now, but on some nights, she could hear the throbbing pulse of hair metal emanating from The Viper's Pit on the street side of the building.

Mickie raised her hand, balling her fingers into a fist, and rapped hard on the door, her knocks causing the thinly constructed barrier to shudder and shake. She heard footsteps on the other side, followed by the sound of locks disengaging. The door opened a crack, and then wider when the apartment's occupant saw that it was her.

Randy leaned against the doorjamb, his handsome face creasing into an expression of smarmy familiarity that never failed to turn her stomach. "Well, well, well…" he drawled, folding his arms over his chest. "If it isn't the notorious Mickie James."

Mickie didn't answer, only rolled her eyes. Without waiting for permission, she brushed past Randy, stepping into the apartment. The domicile only had two rooms: the living room/kitchen in front, and the bedroom just beyond it. Its furnishings were few, almost spartan. There was a stained brown futon, a scarred coffee table, two folding chairs—beyond that, very little else to suggest that a person actually _lived _here. There were no personal touches of any kind—no photos, no posters, no knickknacks. It was as though whatever warmth or personality or humanity Randy possessed was locked deep inside him, unable to be expressed through even the simplest of means. Mickie had known Randy for three years—she liked to think that she knew him better than anyone—but even _she_ didn't know what went on in his head.

Most of the time…she didn't really _want _to.

Randy turned toward the brunette, his blue irises scrutinizing her. "What? No hello?" His tone was light, casual—but it still held that unmistakable ring of authority, of _domination_, that she invariably hated.

Mickie stopped in the bedroom doorway, looking back at the Viper's Pit owner. "I didn't know that you cared," she replied flatly. Turning away once again, she allowed herself a second eye roll.

The bedroom was just as starkly furnished as the front room. There was a bed—unmade, of course—and a lamp on a rickety-looking bedside table, which provided the room's only source of illumination. A tall dresser graced the other side of the room, right next to a small window, which granted an excellent view of a brick wall.

Mickie often wondered why Randy chose to live in a shithole like this. After all, the guy owned a _bar_, and as he had proved in the years she had known him, he had access to funds that could have afforded him a place far nicer than this one. Maybe this place, the squalid interior of the Viper's Pit—perhaps they were Randy's way of camouflaging, by hiding his wealth and power beneath a veneer of grime.

Or maybe…maybe Randy chose the gutter because it was where he felt the most comfortable.

Mickie shook her head briskly, forcing the thought from her mind. It was bad enough that she had to come here; that her life depended on every visit she made to this hellhole. The less she tried to psychoanalyze its occupant—the man who inevitably controlled her destiny—the better off she would ultimately be.

She was reminded of a poem she had studied back in high school, some long epic by Dante Something-or-Other. Every time she came here, she couldn't help but remember his description of the words inscribed on the entrance to Hell:

_Abandon hope, all ye who enter here…_

Sometimes, she wondered if Dante Something-or-Other had actually been referring to this place.

Mickie walked across the room, pausing at the dresser. Keeping her back to the door, she unbuttoned her long black coat, shrugging it off her shoulders. Underneath it, she wore a strapless black corset top, and as soon as the air hit her bare skin, she shivered, even though it had to be at least ninety degrees in here.

Behind her, she heard the sound of footsteps. Mickie tensed, waiting for them to come her way, but they continued on past her, followed by the soft groan of bedsprings. Randy's voice drifted her way. "That vamp from last night came by looking for you."

Mickie almost started to ask _What vamp?..._ but managed to stop herself at the very last second. Randy's tone was still informal, nonchalant—but the brunette knew better. This was just another one of his tricks, one of the methods he used to get information and thus maintain his position of power. It had taken Mickie a while to realize that Randy didn't utter one word, one _syllable_, without first determining how it could best be used to manipulate someone else.

At first, Randy's moral ambiguity and calculating nature had galled Mickie, but as the years went by, she gradually became inured to it. Dealing with the Viper's Pit owner was like swimming in a pool of sharks—only in this case, the sharks had blue eyes and a smile that masked a rather large set of teeth. She had developed a system for dealing with Randy, one which required her to remain constantly alert and vigilant around him, and to analyze his every word and gesture just as critically as he did hers.

It was not a hard and fast rule, however. While Mickie usually tried to be direct and thus prevent Randy from twisting her words around—sometimes, it was just easier to let him manipulate her.

Mickie removed her black cadet cap, setting it on the dresser and running both hands through her golden-brown hair. The gun holster was next, making a loud CLUNK as it hit the wood. "I know," she finally replied, trying to keep her voice as nonchalant as possible. Her heart was thudding in her chest; she wondered if Randy could hear it. She was thankful at least that her back was to him. "I saw him."

"_Really_?" Interest crept into Randy's voice, and Mickie cursed herself for telling the truth. True, he would have gotten it from her eventually, but still…She could almost hear the wheels turning in the Viper's Pit owner's head, as he digested this new piece of information, as he tried to ascertain how to use it to his advantage.

To Mickie, there were only a few sounds more terrifying than the whirr and click of Randy's mental manipulation gears.

Namely…the scrape of nails against brick.

Laughter—_male_ laughter—the sound of it both cruel and amused.

A _voice…_

_Pull her up!...I want this bitch to remember me…_

Nails sinking into her flesh, slashing down and tearing her face open; she could smell the hot metallic scent of her own blood. More wicked laughter, and then _the voice_, uttering one last remark before unconsciousness finally, mercifully, claimed her—

_Ooh! THAT'S gonna leave a mark!..._

Mickie reached up, running her fingers over the raised lines marring her face. They _had_ left a mark, all right; one which went a whole lot deeper than the surface and had left an impression far more indelible than memory. Even if forgetting that night was possible, the scarswould always remember, forcing every sensation, every sound, back to the forefront of her mind every time she looked in a mirror or touched her face.

Her attackers had been correct: this bitch _had _remembered. If anything…she was cursed to never forget.

Randy's voice was in her ear again, pulling her back to reality more thoroughly and more abruptly than she could have done herself. "Did you shoot him?"

Mickie bit back a wince. _Great_. She should have known that this question was coming. And of course, thanks to her inability to act, there was absolutely no way she could answer the question without falling prey to some kind of criticizing. If she lied, Randy would undoubtedly know and call her out on it. If she told the truth, well…that would spark an entirely different form of bullshit interrogation that she was in no mood to answer.

The brunette decided to go with the truth, simply because she would rather defend the truth than have Randy catch her in a lie. Mickie knelt down, unzipping her boots as she spoke. "_No_, I didn't."

She heard a muffled sound, one which sounded like a cough, but could have almost been a laugh, emanating from Randy's direction. Which he spoke once more, the Viper's Pit owner's voice was amused, holding only the faintest trace of accusation: "Didn't you tell me once that the next bloodsucker you saw, you were blowing his brains out on sight?"

Mickie lifted her head, narrowing her brown eyes at the dresser in front of her. At least the dresser didn't talk back. "I _did_ say that," she admitted after a second or two.

"Well, then…" The bedsprings shrieked in protest as Randy shifted position on the bed. Mickie flinched as the shrill sound dug painfully into her ears. "What happened?"

The brunette looked over her shoulder. Randy was reclining on the bed, regarding her with a look just as infuriatingly unctuous as his voice would suggest. In spite of herself, she shot him a glare. "I really don't think that's any of your goddamn business," she retorted.

Randy spread his arms wide in what he clearly thought was a placating gesture. "We've been over this before, Mick. Everything you _do_…_is_ my business."

Mickie stared back at him, feeling the resentment building up inside her, like a bubble rising to the surface. Finally, she could stand it no more. "I don't _know_, all right?" she exclaimed, hating how high-pitched and whiny her voice sounded. "Maybe I couldn't pull out the gun in time, maybe he ran away—"

"Or _maybe_," Randy interjected, slipping his hands behind his head. "_You_ just got scared." His azure irises bored into hers, as icy and predatory as those of a shark. "_Maybe_ you just did what you've _always_ done—run away like a scared little _bitch_."

That did it. Mickie rose to her feet, kicking her discarded boots behind her into the corner. "Fuck you," the brunette whispered fiercely. Emotion choked her, making it almost impossible for her to talk. "_Fuck you_."

Randy didn't answer her, and after a second or two, Mickie realized that his blue eyes were no longer on hers, but instead had drifted a bit lower. There were no mirrors in the room (a request of hers that Randy thankfully had obliged), so the brunette glanced down, even though she was pretty sure where the Viper's Pit owner's focus had shifted.

She still wore the black scarf, but the accessory couldn't hide the bite marks and scratches on her shoulders, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts. They stopped at the bodice of her corset—but that didn't mean that they ended there.

Mickie looked up, swallowing hard. With one hand, she finger-combed her hair back from her face. Her voice, when she spoke, was devoid of emotion. "Turn it off."

Randy looked up, swinging his gaze to the lamp and then back to her. "C'mon, Mickie," the Viper's Pit owner coaxed. From his tone, it was clear that this was an argument the two had had many times before. "Not this again. You know that I've seen you a lot worse—"

"_Off_." Mickie's voice was soft, but it left no room for negotiation. For several long seconds, the two of them stared at each other in silence. Eventually, Randy sighed. "You win, Mick," The corner of his mouth curled up in a contemptuous half-smile, making his next words a complete contradiction: "As always…_you win_." Without taking his eyes off her, he reached over and snapped off the lamp.

As soon as darkness flooded the room, Mickie moved swiftly, shedding her clothes one by one and discarding them in a heap on the floor. Totally nude, she moved across the room, her passage unhindered by the lack of light. Randy had already scooted over to give her room, and the brunette climbed onto the bed, stretching out on her back and closing her eyes. Next to her, she could feel Randy moving around as he stripped off his jeans and t-shirt.

Mickie turned her head to the side, lifting her lids a tiny bit. Even though the room was almost pitch black, she could see perfectly well in the dark. _Too _well, in fact.

Scars and bad dreams hadn't been the _only_ thing her attackers had left her with.

A hand closed over her breast, and Mickie flinched before remembering that it was only Randy. She kept her body still, almost motionless. In the beginning, Randy had tried to make it more enjoyable for her. However, after Mickie averted her face from his and avoided his kisses, he quickly figured out that he was just wasting his time and gave up trying. Mickie almost felt sorry for him, because in retrospect, it was probably the most chivalrous thing he had ever done for her. But no amount of foreplay could change the fact that _this_ was nothing more than a business transaction.

She felt Randy mount her, his hot breath washing over her as he pushed her legs apart. Mickie didn't move, didn't so much as twitch as he entered her. Randy planted his hands on either side of her body, propping himself up. Occasionally, he would pause, adjusting her hips or some other part of her body to better accommodate his thrusts. Mickie let him, not even raising her arms to embrace him. She let him fuck her, half-listening to his pleasurable groans mingle with the creaks of bedsprings as he neared his point of release. She didn't cry out, even as the intensity of his thrusts increased.

Why bother to fake it, when she didn't even feel anything?

She felt Randy's body convulse slightly, heard him groan: "Oh my _God_…" as he climaxed, before he collapsed onto her. For a few seconds, the Viper's Pit owner remained there, almost smothering her beneath his weight, before he finally summoned enough energy to roll off her.

There was another long moment of silence, then: "The money's on the dresser."

Mickie knew that was her hint to leave. Slowly, the brunette sat up, hugging her knees to her chest for a moment before easing her body off the bed. She walked over to her pile of clothes, picking them and donning them one by one, thankful for the darkness. It did more than hide her scars: it also kept Randy from seeing how badly she was shaking, kept him from seeing the involuntary tears of shame that streamed down her face. Her fingers were numb; she dropped her corset twice before she was able to successfully put it back on.

Once she was clothed, Mickie turned to the dresser, reaching out and sliding the wad of bills toward her. She didn't bother to count them; she was more concerned with what the money concealed—namely, the small bag of white powder wrapped within them.

Heroin—perhaps not the only, but certainly one of the many reasons she allowed Randy to use her like a whore.

As she shoved the money and the plastic bag into her coat pocket, Randy's voice floated out of the darkness: "Stay away from that vamp, Mick. He smells like trouble to me—and I don't think he's going to go away easily."

Mickie turned around, fixing her brown eyes on the Viper's Pit owner. Just the fact that she could see Randy, but he couldn't see her, gave her an evanescent feeling of power. "Are you _actually_ reminding _me_ to stay away from a _vamp_?" the brunette drawled sarcastically.

Randy didn't laugh, and in the dark, Mickie could see that he wasn't smiling. "I'm just looking out for you," the Viper's Pit owner replied. An oily tone crept into his voice, belying any concern his words might have held. "Remember, Mick—I'm the only one who cares…the only one who's ever given a _damn_ about you."

_Go to hell…_Mickie wanted to reply, but she didn't. More than once, she had tried to utter those exact words to Randy, and every time, she found herself choking on them. Randy must have sensed this, because she could hear the smile in his voice as he remarked: "Good night, Mick."

Mickie strode out of the bedroom, fumbling with the chain on the front door for a few seconds before she succeeded in unlatching it. However, it wasn't until she staggered down the rickety steps and out into the adjacent alley that her head began to clear and the tight feeling in her chest finally dissipated. The brunette leaned against the wall, taking deep breath after deep breath, trying to tell herself that she was all right, that she would be fine—

But that was a lie, wasn't it? She wasn't fine. She never _would_ be fine, not ever.

Too much of her existence depended on the Viper's Pit owner; there was no way she would ever be able to break away from him without consequence. And even though she hated him, he was also the only person she could really trust, the one individual she knew she could rely on.

However, that didn't stop Mickie from wishing that he hadn't saved her life; that on that night when she had staggered into the Viper's Pit, bleeding badly and half-dead, he had just let her die—

Mickie glanced back at the building behind her, at the dark entranceway that led up to Randy's apartment.

_Abandon hope, all ye who enter here…_

She used to think that hell would be the day she woke up and found that she had become one of the monsters; no longer herself but _changed_. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe _this_—this show of subservience to a man she despised, this stagnant quagmire of despair and self-loathing—

Maybe _this _was hell.


	6. Chapter 6: Enter the Hunters

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I took a lot of time with this one; I really wanted to convey Mickie's mindset, as well as the world of the Hunters. Hopefully, you will enjoy. Peace!**

**Thank you to **Esha Napoleon, Nastygrl25 **and **x Ashlynn13 x **for reviewing the last chapter! You ROCK! Love yas!**

* * *

Chapter 5: Enter The Hunters

Mickie jammed her key in the lock, twisting it sharply to the left and pushing against the door. The wood was slightly warped; she had to slam her shoulder into it two or three times before the door finally swung open.

Her apartment was just as dark, cramped, and dingy as Randy's—and just like practically everything else in her life, the Viper's Pit owner paid for it as well. But unlike Randy's place, Mickie always felt some measure of solace within these walls. Maybe it was because Randy—despite all his shortcomings as a human being—somehow understood that this place was her only sanctuary, and respected it as such by never setting foot inside.

More than that, though…it was the one place where she could indulge her addictions, far from the judgmental gaze of the rest of the world.

Mickie tossed the wad of dollar bills carelessly onto the scarred kitchen table, turning her attention to the small packet of white powder in her hand. Amazing how a few flecks of powder could dictate the whole of one's existence. Already, she could feel the first symptoms of withdrawal gnawing at her, her body crying out for the drug.

She was aware that her tolerance for the drug was increasing, and that the amount of time between each fix was growing shorter and shorter. Soon, the craving would eclipse everything else. But Mickie didn't care—if anything, she welcomed her eventual spiral into full-blown addiction. Maybe the craving for heroin would obliterate that other thirst—the one that had been steadily claiming her, bit by bit, for the past three years.

The brunette slowly closed her fingers around the tiny bag, pressing her closed fist to her forehead. After a second or two, she lowered her hand back down to her side, striding across the main area to the bedroom. Without even bothering to switch on a light (not that she needed to, anyway), Mickie slid open the top drawer of her dresser, extracting a cloth-wrapped bundle.

Reentering the kitchen, she pulled back the single chair and sat down at the table, unrolling the roll of fabric and laying out the implements of her vice one by one: lighter, spoon, syringe. Part of her—the junkie side of her—was impatient, eager for the fix. But Mickie forced herself to move slowly, to make every movement deliberate, as she dissolved the white powder in water, as she ran the lighter's flame across the curved side of the spoon, heating its contents. There was something cleansing, purifying, about the ritual; in a way, it made her feel like she was still in control.

And after a while, she could almost convince herself that she had become an addict for a good cause—that she was shooting heroin to save her life.

_Almost_.

Mickie rose abruptly, shrugging off her coat. Taking the now-loaded syringe in one hand and a rubber tourniquet in the other, she walked back to her bedroom, sinking down onto the lumpy mattress. Setting the syringe on the nightstand, she used her right arm and teeth to secure the tourniquet around her left. The brunette reached over to snap on the lamp—more out of habit than necessity—while critically examining her arm. The veins on both of her arms were pretty much kaput; soon, she'd have to find other areas of her body to inject the drug. After a minute or two of careful searching, she finally located a vein that wasn't too terribly mangled.

Mickie leaned over, plucking the syringe off the nightstand. As she did so, she also hit the "PLAY" button on a small beat-up stereo. This was the final item, the last step in the ritual. Mickie positioned the tip of the needle over the vein, listening to the whirr of the CD inside the player. As the first notes of Audioslave's "Like A Stone" echoed in the tiny room, the brunette took a deep breath and jabbed the syringe into her arm, depressing the plunger.

For several seconds, nothing happened. Then, all at once, the chemically-induced euphoria slammed into her, knocking her back onto the bed. Mickie's eyes fluttered closed, a soft moan of pleasure escaping her throat as the sensation ripped through her body. Shooting up—it was as heady and intoxicating as sex, but without the shame and discomfort that usually accompanied it. It filled the void inside her, driving away the cold emptiness of despair. On heroin, she could almost believe that she would be fine; that she would wake up in the morning and everything would be all right.

Too bad it didn't last. Too bad it never lasted.

Mickie's eyes flew open, her gaze traveling over the various cracks and water marks in the ceiling. Whenever she was high, different thoughts would float in and out of her consciousness, notions that she would never allow herself to consider when she was lucid. Now was clearly no different, because for some reason, she couldn't stop thinking about that vamp.

The way he had looked at her—it had been almost…_sympathetic_. As though, in some way, he was genuinely sorry for what had befallen her. Which didn't make any sense, because he was just another bloodsucker. Vampires were all alike; to them, she was just another human, just another piece of meat—albeit a damaged piece of meat that no one (vamp _or_ human) wanted anymore.

So what made this one so different? Why was a fucking vampire showing her sympathy, the first _real_ sympathy she had glimpsed in three years? And why—in both of her encounters with him—had an extraordinary sense of peace fallen over her when she looked into his eyes?

Mickie stared up at the ceiling, imagining in her drug-induced state that she could actually see his dark irises gazing down at her, not with malice or cruelty, but with _compassion_. And then the drug claimed her, eradicating every coherent thought and forcing her to surrender to the feeling, all while the mournful voice of Chris Cornell washed over her…

_**In your house **_

_**I long to be**_

_**Room by room patiently**_

_**I wait for you there**_

_**Like a stone**_

_**I wait for you there**_

_**Alone…**_

* * *

Mickie awoke the following morning with a splitting headache and the immediate need to puke. The brunette rolled over on her side onto the edge of the bed, groping blindly for and grabbing the small trash can by the nightstand. Raising it up to her face, she retched up a mouthful of nasty-tasting yellowish-green bile, spitting it out into the trash can.

Dropping the waste receptacle back onto the floor, Mickie rolled over onto her opposite hip, groaning. Her eyelids opened a crack, then wider as she realized that it was no longer night. The room was dim, a set of heavy drapes covering the only set of windows—but nevertheless, a thin beam of sunlight had worked its way into her room, illuminating a small patch of wood floor.

Without taking her eyes off the ray of light, the brunette unsteadily pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her stomach clenched tight, hard enough to hurt—not with nausea…but with _dread_.

What had happened three years ago should have killed her, but somehow, Mickie had survived. In the beginning, she had attributed her survival to sheer dumb luck. But then…the symptoms had started…

The changes had been gradual at first—heightened senses, quicker reflexes—unusual, perhaps, but certainly not terrifying. However, as time passed, other, less innocuous, abilities emerged as well…

The voices, for one.

The _thirst_, for another…

For three years, she had been fighting this, struggling to hold onto her humanity with the same ferocity that she'd once fought for her life. But it was a lost cause, a battle she was destined to lose. Mickie knew that she was _changing_, becoming something that was no longer human, and that one morning, she would wake up and find she had developed severe allergies to silver…or to the sun…

Which was why she had created this little morning ritual, now as much a part of her daily routine as brushing her teeth. And even after three years, it never ceased to fill her with terror.

Mickie swung her legs over the side of the bed, rising to her feet. Her knees buckled, and for a second or two, she thought she was going to collapse. But the brunette forced herself to remain upright, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. Putting one foot forward, then the other, she moved toward the window, reaching out with one trembling hand to take hold of the curtain. Her heart was racing in her chest; her forehead was beaded with sweat. The room spun, inverting itself and threatening to send her to the floor. Still holding onto the curtain with one hand, Mickie extended the other, palm down. Gritting her teeth and taking a deep breath, she ripped the curtain back, allowing sunlight to spill into the room and over her exposed hand…

Nothing happened.

Mickie's eyes, which had been squeezed closed, opened again cautiously. She studied her hand, turning it over and back in the morning light. No burns, no blisters, no pain—only the clean warmth of sunshine washing over her palm.

Letting out her breath in a relieved sigh, the brunette yanked the curtain open further, letting the sunlight fall over her face and body. She pressed her face to the heated glass, drinking in the light the way a flower might. "Thank you," Mickie whispered, her voice filled with gratitude, though who she was thanking, she never really knew. All she knew was that she was standing here, in the sunlight—and she was still herself. For one more day, at least, she was still human.

It was at that moment Mickie realized she wasn't alone; someone, some_thing_ was in the bedroom with her. The brunette whirled around, her brown eyes widening in shock when she saw who it was.

"John?"

The man seated in the corner of the room was tall and muscular, clad in a black t-shirt and fatigues. He had one leg crossed casually over the other; his feet were encased in black army boots. Piercing blue eyes peered at her from a face that would have been handsome—had its owner chosen to smile. His features held no expression, but yet, he managed to exude an aura of deadly intensity and calm. This was a man who did not enjoy violence—but who was prepared to use it if and when its necessity occurred.

Mickie leaned back against the window, her gaze still fixed on her visitor. Already, her shock was dissipating, giving way to bitterness and hostility. She crossed her arms over her chest, glad that the bright sunlight cast her damaged face in shadow. "I didn't know you were back in town," she remarked, her tone clipped.

John shrugged, his stoic expression never altering. "Just arrived last night. The rest of the team's back in L.A., cleaning a vamp nest out of the Staples Center." A hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. "Guess the fuckers were Lakers fans."

"Uh-huh," Mickie grunted, in a tone that indicated she was less than impressed. "So…what? You thought you'd just 'stop by', break into my place, watch me while I sleep?" She turned back toward the window, reaching out to grab onto the sill with both hands. "You never change."

"Mick," Her visitor's voice was gentle, with none of the smarmy authority that Randy's usually possessed. "I came back to see how you're doing."

"Oh, _really_?" Mickie shot back."How do you _think_ I'm doing?" Pushing herself back from the window, she strode toward the bedside table, yanking open the top drawer, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Moving back toward the sunlight, she stuck one into her mouth, jabbing the tip of it into the open flame until it caught. She took a deep drag, exhaling the smoke in a pale gray plume toward the ceiling. That accomplished, she looked back at John. "Take a _good look around_ and tell me how the _fuck_ you think I'm doing."

Mickie turned back to face the window, staring unseeingly at the rooftops stretched out in front of her. "You can't just _show up_ whenever you feel like it, and act like you _care_; like you actually give a damn." She inhaled deeply, blowing the smoke out and watching it float over the glass. "I mean, why don't you just come out and say it? We both know that if you had to pick, you'd rather be killing monsters than sitting here, talking to me."

Silence followed her retort, then: "I promised Rob that I'd take care of you…if anything ever happened to him."

At the mention of her brother's name, Mickie felt her throat swell shut with emotion. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, tears stinging her eyes. "Stop," the brunette replied softly, the bitterness momentarily absent from her tone. "Just stop. Don't say it—"

John continued, steamrolling over her words as though she had never uttered them. "—and as for what I do…my team and I—we do what has to be done, Mick. Rob understood that, even at the end—"

"Yeah, well, _Rob's dead_!" the brunette shrieked, cutting him off. She whirled around, glaring at the man in the corner. "He's _dead_—and all your bullshit about 'the greater good' isn't going to bring my brother back!" A tear rolled down Mickie's cheek; she brushed it away impatiently, still talking. "He's the lucky one, though—did you know that? At least he died without knowing what happened to me." Mickie let out a laugh, a harsh ugly sound that barely masked the hysteria lurking beneath. "I wonder what he would have done if he'd survived, if he'd come back here and seen his baby sister's mangled face—"

In an instant, John was out of his chair, crossing the room to grab her arms. His expression had closed down; there was no longer any trace of warmth or sympathy. "Probably the same thing he would do if he knew that his baby sister was shooting herself up with poison," the blue-eyed man replied through gritted teeth. "Or if he knew that she was whoring herself out to some sleazy—"

Mickie slapped him.

The sound of her palm striking his cheek echoed in the small bedroom. John's head snapped to the side, but his expression didn't change. Mickie stared at him, her chest heaving as she struggled to rein in her tears. "_Shut up_," the brunette spat. "You have _no idea_ what it is like living with _this_—" She indicated her ruined face. "—every day." Unconsciously, her fingers stole to her throat, still swathed in the long black scarf. "You have _no idea_ what they did to me," the brunette whispered.

John slowly rotated his head back to face her, gingerly massaging his jaw with one hand. His blue irises studied her intently; he seemed to be choosing his words with care. "Mickie," the blue-eyed man finally began. "Don't do this. Come with me—"

"And do what?" Mickie retorted. "Play Shoot 'Em Up with your little Scooby gang? Pay back those vamps for what they did to me?" She shook her head. "Why bother? It won't change anything—and besides…I don't think your team's going to like me—not while I have _these_." Her fingers danced over the bite marks marring her upper body.

John's countenance hadn't changed, but Mickie thought she saw a hint of desperation in his azure irises. "Mickie, listen to me," He tentatively reached out, touching her cheek. "You are still _human_—"

"But for how much longer?" the brunette interjected, shying away from his touch. Her brown eyes fastened on his, the look in them almost accusing. "It gets worse every _day_, John—and I don't know how to stop it. That _poison_ is the only thing keeping me sane." As she spoke, she lifted up her cigarette, and before John could stop her, she pressed the lit end against her bare forearm. There was a sound of sizzling flesh, but Mickie didn't even flinch. She shoved her arm into the blue-eyed man's face, forcing him to examine the small circular burn. "See _this_? _This_…will be gone by tonight." She laughed again, affording yet another glimpse at the near-insanity threatening to break through her protective wall. "Too bad I don't have a razor blade; I could give you a _real_ demonstration. Problem is those fuckers take at least a day to heal—

John grabbed her shoulders, shaking her roughly. "Stop it, Mickie," the blue-eyed man commanded.

Mickie opened her mouth, another cynical remark ready on her lips—which quickly died when she saw the tortured expression on John's face. The brunette's resentful countenance vanished, and she wrenched herself free of John's grip, turning back toward the window. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, almost inaudible. "Don't you get it, John? _There is no hope_." She closed her eyes, tears trickling down her scarred cheeks. "_You can't save me_. You couldn't save my brother from getting his throat ripped out—and you can't save me from what I'm _becoming_." She ducked her head, her golden-brown hair falling over her face. "Rob's dead…and I might as well be. And as far as I'm concerned—you and your _protection_ can go to hell."

A long silence followed her words. John reached out, hesitantly grasping her shoulder. "Mick—"

"Get out." Mickie's voice was quiet but steely.

The blue-eyed man bowed his head, dropping his hand back down to his side. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned around on his heel, walking back across the room. He had just reached the open doorway when the brunette spoke once more. "John?"

John turned, anticipation briefly lighting up his handsome face. Mickie didn't turn around, but continued to stare out the window. "One day, I'll wake up…and I won't be human anymore. When that day comes, will you come after me, too? Will you put a bullet in my head just like every other bloodsucker you've killed?" She paused for a moment before offering her final biting retort. "Or will you not even do _that_ for me?"

There was no answer; only the sound of the front door opening and closing quietly.

That was okay; she hadn't really been expecting one.

* * *

He should have saved her.

John—or "Cena", as he was sneeringly called by his prey—had been killing vamps for a long time now. He had long ago ceased to keep track of how many years he had spent destroying their numbers—all that mattered was that slaying bloodsuckers was his life now. And if there was one thing all those uncounted years of experience had taught, it was that, try as you might, you couldn't save everyone.

John had embraced this axiom, had adopted it as a rule for survival—but for some reason, he had a hard time accepting it whenever he beheld Rob James' little sister. It wasn't as though Mickie was any different from the countless other innocents that fell prey to the monsters, but _still_, she was Rob's baby sister; he should have been able to save her, _he should have been able to save her—_

He thought about Rob, lying in a fallow field somewhere in Ohio, unable to even lift his hands to press against his ruined throat. The blood pumping out of the enormous gash in his throat, the ribbed surface of his trachea exposed. The look of sheer terror in his brown eyes—the same shape and hue as Mickie—that gradually dulled and disappeared as the life drained out of him…

John had lost team members before—when you were a Hunter, you had to be willing to accept a shortened life span—but for some reason, the look in Rob's eyes, the fear of the unknown, always stayed with him. He'd taken it hard, harder than any other team loss he'd suffered, comforted only by the belief that he could save Mickie, that what he hadn't been able to do for Rob, he could do for her.

Instead, he had found her a hollow shell of her former self, a ruined soul physically and psychologically damaged beyond repair. Even if he found the bastards that had done this to her, even if he inflicted on them the worse torture his mind could conceive—it wouldn't bring her back. It wouldn't fix her. More than that…it wouldn't stop her from _changing_.

Mickie was right; Rob _was_ the lucky one—because it would have killed him to watch his baby sister become one of the monsters.

The blue-eyed man ground to a halt, the concerns of the present overshadowing the horrors of the past. He stood outside a large self-storage facility, located on the outskirts of the city. The place had been abandoned long ago; weeds grew up around the storage units and through the cracks in the pavement, while trash and cigarette butts littered the ground. A tall chain-link fence, its top edge shielded by barbed wire, was the only deterrent between the property and would-be vandals.

The place looked vacant—exactly what he and his team wanted everyone to think.

He hadn't exactly been lying to Mickie; he and his band of Hunters _had_ been in L.A. What he'd neglected to mention was that they'd finished up a week or so ago--and since had relocated here.

The blue-eyed man moved closer to the fence, taking care not to touch it—the barrier was electrified. He punched a code into a small keypad, stepping back as the gates swung open to allow him entry. As soon as he walked onto the property, they closed behind him with a barely audible CLANG.

John walked toward the row of storage units farthest from the gate, his hands loose and ready at his sides, his blue eyes alert and scanning every corner. Even though he and his team had gone to considerable lengths to make this place secure, it never hurt to be overly careful. Vamps were a wily species, and while their activities were obviously limited during the day, they weren't above using humans to do their dirty work when the sun was up.

John stopped at Storage Unit 423, rapping on the door. "Cena!". The greeting was another security measure; in the event he was under duress, a different greeting would have been used. Above him, a small surveillance camera silently recorded his every movement.

After a minute or two, the door lifted up about halfway. John ducked underneath, and the door descended slowly as soon as he was inside. The unit was empty and dark. Faint white light flickered through a doorway cut into the wall. John stepped through the doorway—and into a completely different world.

The walls separating the storage units from one another had been knocked down, creating one long enormous space. The area was divided up into sections: against one wall was a bank of computer screens and electronic equipment, against another was an arsenal of guns, knives, and other weaponry. Towards the end was a massive workbench, laden with all kinds of tools, and across from it were a number of cots. Worklights were strung across the ceiling, providing dim but steady illumination.

As John moved into the command center for his team of Hunters, he caught a faint sound behind him—the sound of a taut bow string gradually being relaxed. He turned just in time to see the blond-haired woman lower her bow, the weapon notched with an arrow. John chuckled, a half-smile touching his lips. He glanced down at the bow. "Good thing I'm not a vamp." he remarked.

The woman didn't return his smile. She was short, but solidly built, her muscular form only hinting at the power she was capable of. Her pale blue eyes bore into his as she set the weapon back down on her chair. "Good thing you're not," she replied, echoing his sentiment. "Otherwise, you'd be dead."

"Don't blame Beth," a new voice chirped from across the room. Both of them turned toward the red-haired woman seated in the midst of the computers. The redhead grinned, pushing her wire-rimmed glasses further up her nose. "She's been anxious ever since you left."

"I have not!" Beth protested, her expression indignant. She shot a glare in the redhead's direction. "Don't listen to Maria; she's been staring at surveillance cams all day."

"Is that so?" John replied, his face lighting up in a full-fledged grin. "Don't tell me that the Glamazon actually got _anxious _about _something_."

"Don't call me that!" Beth retorted, even though it was clear her irritation was already starting to fade. "God, I could kill Jeff for giving me that stupid nickname!" Gradually, though, her frown dissipated and she returned John's smile.

The blue-eyed man stepped closer, leaning down to place a kiss on the corner of her mouth. "How are things?" he asked softly.

"Uneventful," Beth answered, her tone just as low as his. "How was Mickie?" At this, John's grin faded, and he averted his gaze. The blond woman sighed, reaching up to touch his cheek. "I'm sorry, John—"

"Hey!" Maria's high-pitched voice jarred both of them out of their reverie. "When you two are done pushing your cots together, you can give me something to do other than watch a vacant lot."

John drew away from Beth, striding over to the redhead. "Any activity?"

Maria shook her head. "Couple of kids tried to climb the fence; juice scared them off." She gazed adoringly up at John. "_Please_, Cena, just let me up the voltage on that thing; I want to see them jump and twitch a little."

John shot a look back at Beth. "And we all thought Jeff was the crazy one." He turned back to Maria. "Where _is_ Jeff, anyway?"

"Blowing shit up." Maria replied sweetly. As though to punctuate her statement, a muffled BOOM rumbled from somewhere outside. The redhead sighed, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms up over her head. "Ahhh…my Jeffy…everything that my mother warned me about when I was a teenager."

John rolled his eyes, but said nothing, digging into his pocket and extracting a digital camera. "Got a job for you." Maria immediately sat up, clapping her hands eagerly. The blue-eyed man tossed her the camera. "Upload these, print them out—I want them on the board."

"Will do!" Maria replied brightly, tossing him a salute. Her long slender fingers swept over the camera, extracting the memory card and popping it into a nearby drive. With the same speed and fluidity, she moved the mouse over its pad, all of her attention focused on this one chore.

John didn't realize that Beth had approached him until he felt her hand on his arm. "How long do you think she has?"

He didn't need to ask to know that Beth was referring to Mickie. The blue-eyed man shrugged. "I don't know; she's already starting to fast-heal. It could be a week, it could be a month—who knows?"

"But she's survived this long," Beth pointed out. "She should have turned three years ago; maybe there's a chance—"

John shook his head, cutting her off. "There's no chance. You know it, I know it—and more than that…she knows it."

The blond woman opened her mouth to add something further, but was interrupted by Maria's surprised: "Oh my _God_!"

"What?" Immediately, Beth strode forward, concern written across her features. "What is it?" She turned the computer screen around, freezing when she saw the image displayed across it. Behind her, John also moved forward, his expression impassive.

Maria looked from one to the other, her effervescent demeanor gone. Her green irises were wide and fixed on John. "Cena…that's…that's…that's _Dave_!"

John nodded slowly, glancing down at the screen. The pixilated image of Dave Batista, standing under a streetlight, deep in conversation with Mickie, stared back at him. "Yeah," the team leader replied after a long moment. "Dave's back in town…and if he's here—"

"—Then Melina's here, too." Beth cut in brusquely. Her pale blue eyes met his, as hard and cold as ice. "I haven't seen that bitch since she broke my arm. Couldn't use my bow for months—I _still_ can't shoot as well as I used to."

John didn't answer; merely picked up the warm pile of photographs from the printer tray, carrying them over to the empty bulletin board.

"What's the plan, Boss?" Maria asked. She must have been nervous; the only time she ever called him "Boss" was when she was anxious.

John didn't seem to hear her; he was too busy shuffling through the photographs. He finally selected one, shoving a push pin into it and jabbing it onto the board. The photo showed Dave reaching out, his massive hand closed around Mickie's arm. The light from the streetlamp fell harshly over his sharply-hewn features, making him look like a beast. John stared at the image, his expression unreadable. "We wait," he eventually answered. "Dave's a careful guy; he's not going to do anything stupid. We wait, and we watch, and we step in if necessary, and if we're lucky—he'll lead us right to Melina."

"What…" Beth's voice was soft, hesitant. "What do you think he wants with Mickie?"

The team leader shook his head. "I don't know," he replied after a few seconds. His azure eyes narrowed to tiny slits.

"But if I see him go anywhere near her again…I'll kill him myself."


	7. Chapter 7: Nobody's Hero

**A/N: Geez of Pete, how long has it been since I last updated? Forever? I need to apologize--first the end of the semester hit, then the holidays, then a CRIPPLING case of writer's block. But I powered through it, and banged out this chapter, which hopefully, you are will enjoy. To everyone who's read, favorited, or reviewed, you are all very very cool, and thanks for putting up with me.**

**Thank you to **Esha Napoleon, Nastygrl25, wolfdemon22, **and **basicHBKnomics **for reviewing the last chapter! You all ROCK! Love yas!

* * *

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Chapter 6: Nobody's Hero

_ The taste of her blood was intoxicating._

_ Dave clamped his lips against Kelly's throat, sucking greedily at the vital essence flowing from the two puncture wounds he had created. The blood was the life, as they said, and right now, the fluid running through the blond girl's veins was sustaining HIS life. Dave knew that he should stop, that he was dangerously close to stealing Kelly's life along with her blood, but he couldn't help it; she tasted so SWEET..._

_ It would be so easy to just drink until his thirst was sated, to drink from her until she was drained dry..._

_ The horror of it all slammed into Dave like a bolt of electricity. That urge, that desire...it was the beast talking. Kelly wasn't a food depository--she was a human being, and if he didn't stop right now, he was going to kill her. _

_ Panicked, the vampire tried to pull away--but found that he couldn't. His body refused to obey him; his arms remained locked around Kelly's slender frame, his fangs remained embedded in her throat. Horrified, Dave struggled harder, but to no avail. It was as though he was paralyzed, locked inside his own body, forcing to listen as Kelly's heartbeat slowed...then stopped altogether...while her blood, previously so sweet and tasty, suddenly turned as bitter and chalky as ash in his mouth--_

_ With a low cry, Dave managed to tear his fangs free of the blond girl's throat, but he already knew with a dreadful certainty that he was too late, much too late. Kelly's pale blue eyes stared sightlessly ahead, while a thin ribbon of blood oozed from the corner of her mouth. Dave could feel the warmth leaving her body, her skin becoming icy and clammy beneath his fingertips._

_ The vampire bowed his head, burying his face in the crook of Kelly's neck, where some measure of warmth still lingered. The soft scent of her skin had already evaporated, leaving in its place the inevitable aromas of death and decay. _

_ He had killed her. Before this, the blond girl in his arms had been happy, vivacious, ALIVE. Now...she was nothing, just a lifeless hunk of meat sculpted in the shape of a human being._

_** You did this to me**_**.**

_Dave's head shot up, his dark eyes growing wide. It was impossible, Kelly was DEAD, he was sure of it...and yet, somehow, he had still heard her voice, burbling up from within her chest to ring accusingly in his ears. _

_ As he watched, the blond girl's head swiveled around to face him. Her movements were stiff and wooden; her eyes, when they met his, were still lifeless and dead. It was as though something was inside her, controlling her from within, manipulating her limbs like some kind of demonic puppeteer. _

_ Kelly's mouth moved, spitting forth words in that same accusing tone of voice--words that, try as he might, he couldn't block out._

_**You killed me. I trusted you...and you killed me.**_

_ Dave slowly shook his head, as though by doing so, he could negate the validity of her statements. "No..." he whispered, shocked by how weak, how frightened his normally deep tone sounded. "No, Kelly, I didn't mean to--"_

_**I was right about you.**_

_ Dave felt his heart stop. That voice... Even though it was still Kelly that he cradled in his arms, the voice emanating from her lips had been the low alto tone of Mickie James. Kelly's eyes shifted, met his--REALLY met his--and he could see that her irises had inexplicably changed from pale blue to brown._

_ The same shape and shade as Mickie's._

_**A monster did this to me--and that's what you are...a fucking MONSTER.**_

_Dave tried to avert his gaze, run away, but found that he couldn't; once again, his body refused to obey him. He could only stand there, a horrified scream climbing up his throat, as the pristine features of Kelly transformed into the scarred countenance of Mickie James..._

Dave sat straight up in bed, all the breath escaping from his lungs in one frantic gasp. For a heartbeat, all he could see was darkness, but then his vampiric senses kicked him, allowing him to study his surroundings with acute clarity.

Panting for breath, Dave slid his gaze over the massive four-poster bed, the armchairs, the flat-screen TV in the corner, the heavy black drapes covering the floor-to-ceiling window dominating the far wall. Gradually, as reality reasserted itself, he recognized it as the bedroom he shared with Melina.

He was home, safe in bed, not committing atrocities in an alley behind the Viper's PIt. Kelly's murder, and the horrifying events that had followed it...had been nothing more than a bad dream.

The big man covered his face with his hands, still struggling to catch his breath. It had been a long time since he'd had nightmares of any kind, let alone ones that left him terrified and shaking. After a decade as a vampire, he'd assumed that nothing--save a team of Hunters--could scare him anymore.

Apparently, he was wrong.

There had been something different about this dream; it had felt so _real_, so _actual_. And unlike the usual illusory quality of dreams, this one refused to melt away into nothingness. Dave could still remember the sweet taste of Kelly's blood, the velvety softness of her skin--and he could still hear the cold accusation in her voice--no, _Mickie's _voice--as she spoke...

_A monster did this to me...and that's what you are..._

She was wrong, of course. He wasn't a monster. Sure, he drank blood, and sure, he had drank deeply from Kelly, but that had been purely for survival. He hadn't killed her--okay, maybe he had left her alone and unconscious in a dark alley, but he hadn't _killed _her. He wasn't a bad guy; he was just doing what he had to to survive.

He wasn't a monster...right?

Dave closed his eyes, sighing. This was an old argument, a familiar set of justifications that he had been telling himself even since Melina had turned him almost ten years ago. Normally, he was able to coax himself back into a state of guilty indifference, but tonight, his anxiety and his insecurities remained, refusing to be quelled.

For some reason, not one of his logical reasons for survival could dispel the memory of Mickie's scarred face...

Dave's ultra-sensitive hearing caught a faint noise, the soft step of bare feet on carpet, and quickly looked up. Melina stood in the doorway, one hand resting lightly on the door frame. She wore a loose sheer black robe over her lacy black negligee, and her blond-streaked hair tumbled loose over her shoulders. Her dark eyes bore into his, her beautiful face fixed in an expression of amused curiosity.

Dave quickly wiped the perspiration from his face, making a fake show of yawning. "Is it night yet?"

His lover's countenance didn't change. "It's two in the afternoon." With the lithe, liquid movements of a snake, she moved into the room, her eyes still fastened on his. "What's up with you?"

Even though her expression betrayed nothing, Dave still caught the derision in her voice. It didn't bother him; if anything, he was used to it. After all, contempt formed more of a cornerstone of their relationship than any sort of love or affection.

For a second, he was tempted to lie, but just as rapidly decided against it. Melina might not be able to hear his thoughts, but she had an uncanny ability of discerning fact from fabrication. If he tried to lie to her, chances were very good that she would figure out he was doing so. And if _that_ happened, she would hound him, pester him until he would have no choice but to reveal every secret thought or desire locked inside his brain.

Better to reveal a small secret so that bigger ones might stay buried. Better to speak the truth without elaborating on it.

Dave shrugged, making sure to keep his expression neutral. "Nothing...just a bad dream."

"_Really_?" A note of interest crept into Melina's voice, and she strode closer, the sheer fabric of her robe rippling with movement. The female vampire pressed her curvaceous body against one of the bed's posters, resting her cheek against the wood as she eyed her lover. "A nightmare? _You_?" She shook her head, as though disbelieving. "Do tell."

Dave shrugged again, as though the details were unimportant--which, as far as Melina was concerned, might as well be. "Nothing, really," he admitted after a few seconds. "Except..."

The vampire hesitated for a moment, lifting his gaze to study Melina's beautiful face. What he was about to ask...it was kind of a stupid question. He was pretty sure already of what Melina's answer was going to be. Nevertheless, he had to ask it. He had to ask it--or else go crazy from the pressure building inside his head.

Dave spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. "Do you...ever...wonder...about the ones that we leave behind? You know...the people that we--" His voice faltered ever-so-slightly. "--_feed..._off of?"

Melina blinked, and Dave wished that he had a camera at hand to capture her expression; he had never seen her look so astonished. Eventually, the shock dissipated, and the corner of her mouth turned upward in a scornful little smile. "Of course I do," the female vampire drawled. "I send them all a thank-you card every week."

Dave felt no disappointment; only the dull pain of emotional disconnect. After all, he'd known all along that this was how Melina was going to react. His lover tilted her head back, letting out a soft throaty chuckle. "Come on, Dave," she drawled derisively. "Don't tell me that after _ten years_, you've still got a conscience? That you actually _care_ about those _ants_ scurrying around below us? So we feed off of human blood. So what?" The female vampire shrugged. "That's survival of the fittest, baby. That's _Darwin_. You and me--" Melina let go of the bed post, climbing onto the king-sized bed. Moving on hands and knees, she crawled over to Dave, swinging one leg over his body and straddling his waist. She wasn't wearing any underwear; Dave could feel her moist heat against his skin.

His lover went on. "--you and me, we're gods, Dave. We do whatever we want, _whenever_ we want, and no one can _ever _stop us."

Dave chuckled bitterly. "_Some_ people can."

Melina scoffed. "Who? Hunters?" She leaned forward, planting both hands against his chest, pushing him back down onto the bed. Dave couldn't help but stare at her ample breasts, practically spilling out of the negligee's low-cut bodice. The female vampire continued. "How many times have they come after us--and how many times have we fought them off?" Melina shook her head, tossing her black-and-blond hair over one shoulder. "They can't stop us, baby. _No one can_."

Normally, Dave would have been inclined to disagree with her, but right now, all he could focus on was how fucking sexy Melina looked at this moment. He was hard, and getting harder by the second, and very soon, nothing else would matter except the sensation of being inside her, of feeling her surrounding him.

Contempt and lust--those were the two halves that made up the circle of their relationship. It was the contempt that would always drive them apart--but it was always the lust that inevitably drew them back together.

Melina, fully aware by now that she was the one in control, allowed her small scornful smile to ease into a smirk. "Poor Dave," she cooed. "Even after everything we've done, everything we've seen, you still think of yourself as human." Leaning forward, she draped her body over Dave's, like a cat basking in the sunshine. With the tip of one manicured fingernail, she lazily traced the curve of his pectoral. "But you're _not_, Dave. You're _better_. More than that..."

Melina pulled herself up until her mouth was hovering just over Dave's. "You're _mine_." the female vampire finished.

With a low growl of need, Dave grabbed her face in his hands, pulling her down into a passionate kiss. Melina returned the kiss, her tongue tangling briefly with his, but then pulled away, sliding her lips down to his throat. Using her mouth and tongue, she worked a slow tantalizing trail down his neck, his chest, his abdomen. She paused at his groin, and Dave was unable to bite back a loud groan of pleasure as she took his erect member in her mouth.

The vampire arched his back off the bed, moaning. Melina was very _very_ good at what she did--it was one instance where she had learned to use her fangs to their most pleasurable advantage. Just when he thought he couldn't hold back anymore, that he was going to explode right then and there--she stopped.

Dave stared up at her in disbelief, panting for breath. "Shit, Mel," he managed to gasp out. "I mean, _come on_--"

Melina placed a finger against his lips, shushing him. Reaching down, she grabbed the hem of her negligee with both hands, lifting it up and stripping it off. Dave felt his breath catch in his throat. Even in total darkness, she was still magnificent.

"Remember, Dave," Dave barely heard Melina's voice; he was too focused on her hands, guiding him into her, until he was firmly sheathed in her moist hot core. "You belong to _me_. No matter what happens...you'll _always_ belong to _me_."

With that, she begin to move, slow at first, then harder and harder. Dave reached out, gripped her ass, pushing himself deeper as he thrust up into her. The sensation was not lost on Melina; with each savage thrust, her moans grew louder and louder. Their frantic cries of passion rose, mingled, until neither one of them could withstand the feeling anymore and they climaxed together.

Melina collapsed onto Dave, her olive skin shining with perspiration. With some effort, she brought her arm up, hugging his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. Her voice was soft and still husky with pleasure. "We belong together, baby," the female vampire murmured. "That's why you always come back...because we belong together..." Her voice trailed off, fading away into silence as she drifted off to sleep.

_Do we?..._Dave thought to himself.

For some reason...he wasn't so sure anymore.

* * *

A day passed, and then another--and Dave tried to forget.

He avoided the Viper's Pit, seeking out other dives, other places where the lighting was dim and the bartenders didn't ask too many questions. He found other girls, other beauties willing to step out into a dark alley with a stranger. He fucked Melina, he fought with Miz and Morrison, and above all, he kept a sharp lookout for the first telltale signs that Hunters had arrived in town. In other words...he tried to return to normal, to the life he had once had.

But it was no use. His brief encounters with Mickie James had sent vibrations across the entire web of his existence. He couldn't stop thinking about her; in fact, the harder Dave tried to push her from his mind, the more firmly fixed in his consciousness she became. More and more, it was Mickie's damaged face that he saw instead of Melina's flawless one, Mickie's harsh accusations rather than Melina's sultry purr.

The first time they had met, Mickie had told him to stay out of her head. Now...Dave wanted to tell her the same thing.

A week passed. Then two.

It was sometime during the middle of the third week that something inside Dave gave way. He wasn't exactly sure what it was or why it had chosen to do so; all he knew was that one moment, he was chatting up a hot Asian chick named Savannah--and the next, he was walking out the door, all interest in Savannah gone.

Savannah didn't matter. In fact, none of them mattered. The only one that mattered was a certain brunette, a mysterious young woman with a scarred face and a soul screaming in agony...

Once his feet connected with the sidewalk, they instantly took control, but this time, Dave let them.

He knew where they were taking him.

* * *

It was almost one in the morning when he arrived at the Viper's Pit, and business was in full swing. The bar was packed, the crush of bodies actually spilling out onto the sidewalk. Inside, Guns 'N Roses' "Welcome to the Jungle" was blasting at top volume, accompanied by a drunken chorus of voices.

Dave passed by the bar without so much as a sidelong glance. The place was crowded, much too crowded for his liking--besides, he was pretty sure he wouldn't find Mickie in there.

_She wants to hide, to disappear...and she can't do that with a face that looks like that. All she wants to do is forget--but they cursed her. They marked her so that she never will..._

Dave stopped in mid-step, frowning. Where had _that _come from? It hadn't been an observation so much as a flash of insight. It had felt like the flickers of stray thoughts he sometimes picked up from the people around him, like someone had whispered into his ear. But where had it come from?

Dave looked over to his left. A dark alley yawned beside him, and the vampire could see that it led around to the other side of the building. Slowly--not really knowing why, only that he had to--Dave walked down the narrow corridor, maneuvering deftly around trash bags and heaps of refuse.

Ahead of him, he could see a doorway leading into the building, a single yellow light bulb burning above it. His ears picked up the patter of footsteps on stairs, and the big man had just enough time to slip back into the shadows before a diminutive figure burst out of the doorway, colliding with the opposite wall.

Mickie hit the brick surface with such force that Dave was certain someone had to have pushed her. But after a few seconds had elapsed and the brunette remained where she was, hands and face pressed to the wall, he realized that she had been the one doing the pushing. Whatever had happened inside that building, it had been bad enough to make Mickie expel herself like a bullet exiting a gun. He didn't dare try and read her mind, but he didn't really need to; he could feel the shame and anguish emanating from her in waves.

The vampire remained motionless, not even daring to breathe. Even in this dim light, he knew that his chances of being seen were still fairly high. But he couldn't help himself. It had been almost three weeks since he had last laid eyes on Mickie James, and even the threat she had made on his life was not enough to prevent him from using every available second to study her.

Mickie was dressed the same as before--in all black, with very little exposed skin. There was something different about her this time, however, and it took Dave a few moments to comprehend what it was. Instead of on her head, Mickie's black cadet cap was crumpled up in one of her clenched fists, and her golden-brown hair spilled down past her shoulders, nearly halfway down her back.

Her tresses gleamed as bright as a beacon in the dim light, and Dave felt himself being drawn to her, like a moth pulled toward a flame. He couldn't quite describe the emotion churning inside him; the sensation that seemed to intensify the longer he stared at Mickie James. It wasn't really affection, or physical attraction; it was...what was it?

_Protective_. That was the word; he felt very..._protective_...of her. Even after all of the animosity she had shown him, he wanted to safeguard her, to shield her from life's cruelties, to prevent her damaged soul from fracturing any more than it already had.

Why? Why did he feel this way? He was a vampire, a creature feeding off the blood of others. He wasn't anyone's hero, anyone's knight in shining armor. What was it about Mickie that awoke this side of him?

What was it about Mickie that was so different?

His internal musings quickly ceased as Mickie drew in a long shuddering breath. Slowly, with obvious effort, she tilted her head up toward the barely visible patch of sky above them. As she did, her long hair fell back from her face. Even with her back almost to him, Dave could see that her cheeks were wet with tears.

Without thinking, the vampire took a step forward. His foot accidentally connected with an empty soda can, sending it clattering across the alley. Mickie whirled around in surprise. Her brown eyes immediately fastened on Dave, her breath escaping in a low gasp. "_You_!"

Dave couldn't move, couldn't even speak; he was just as shocked as she was. Part of him--the vampire part--was wary, afraid she would reach for the gun. But at the same time...he couldn't have fled even if he'd wanted to. This look of stunned surprise on Mickie's face was a far cry from either the icy control or the fiery rage she'd showed before. In this genuine moment of shock, she looked vulnerable, scared, alone.

And beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

Unfortunately, the moment was not destined to last, because in the next instant, Mickie's face had closed down again, her true emotions concealed behind that impassive facade. She swiped impatiently at the tears dampening her cheeks, her eyes never leaving Dave's. "I told you to stay away."

The vampire nodded cautiously, careful to keep his hands at his sides. "I know,"

Mickie took a small step to the side, not approaching Dave, but not backing away from him, either. "I said that if I saw you again, I'd kill you."

Dave nodded again. "Heard that too."

"So..." The brunette ground to a halt. Warily, without breaking eye contact, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Why are you here, then?"

Dave allowed himself to smile, a small tentative one that touched the corner of his mouth. "Maybe I'm willing to risk it."

Mickie's lips twitched, curving up into a smile of their own. But it was bitter, without humor. "So...what?" the brunette remarked. "What's your obsession with me, anyway?" She tilted her head to one side, studying him. "You think that you'll have an easier time with me, just because I've been through it before?"

Dave felt his stomach lurch at the nonchalant way Mickie skipped over her ordeal, the ordeal that had clearly brought them both to this point. "No, I--" the vampire began, but Mickie interrupted him, fumbled at the buttons of her coat as she spoke.

"Go ahead--" With a single sudden motion, she ripped open the jacket, shrugging it off her shoulders and exposing the form-fitting corset top beneath. The illumination from the single light bulb was not flattering; it tinged her skin a washed-out, sickly color, while throwing the bite marks and scars on her shoulders and upper chest into harsh relief.

Dave didn't speak; he was too captivated by the account of torture tattooed on Mickie's skin. The brunette stared at him, her expression unreadable. "Go ahead--finish the job. _Believe me_, you'd be doing me a favor." Her lips pulled back from her teeth in another humorless smile. "Just make it quick."

Dave slowly slid his eyes from the scars back up to Mickie's face. He didn't know which sickened him more: the abuse etched on her body, or her total apathy toward it. The vampire swallowed hard, licking his lips as he tried to speak. "I..." He hesitated, trying to summon up words from a mouth that had gone bone dry. "I don't...want...your blood."

For a heartbeat, Mickie froze. Her smile fell, and Dave could see the disbelief written across her face. Eventually, her countenance closed down again, and she pulled the coat back up over her shoulders. She didn't bother to button it; the scars were still visible.

The brunette shook her head, her brown irises fastened on the big man in front of her. "No..." she whispered, and even the softness of her voice couldn't mask the misery coating her words. Then, a little bit louder: "Of course you do. You're a vamp, aren't you? That's all you fucking care about."

Dave almost winced at the sound of her voice. There was gaiety in there, and bitterness--but both of them were forced. Neither emotion could hide the utter denial in her tone, the inability that she wasn't even worthy of _this_. Dave wanted desperately to tell her that it wasn't like that, that she was more than a meal to him, that he was here because she meant something more than that.

But he couldn't. He didn't have the words, or the ability to say them--and as the silence stretched out between them, he could feel Mickie slipping away, drawing back inside herself.

The brunette wrapped the coat tight around her body, finally shielding the scars from his view. "Oh..." she remarked. "I get it." The hate in her voice was so palpable that Dave could feel every words digging into him like a blade. Mickie's brown eyes narrowed to small slits as she continued. "You want it--you just don't want the packaging that it comes in." Another few seconds of silence followed, then: "You fucking vamps. You tear someone's life apart, and then you don't even have the decency, the _decency,_ to _finish the job_--"

"Stop!" Dave realized that he was shouting. He didn't want to argue with her, he knew that, after what Mickie had endured, he had no right _to _argue with her, but yet, he couldn't help himself. Without thinking, without wondering whether she would reach for the gun and shoot him in the head, the vampire took a step toward her. "It's not _like_ that--"

"Then what _is _it like?" Mickie retorted. She was screaming now as well. "_You're_ a bloodsucker, _I'm _a human! If I'm not food, and I'm not a fucking toy, then what the _fuck _am I to you?"

"I don't know!" Dave roared. Mickie flinched, but didn't retreat. The vampire wanted to stop, to calm down, but he couldn't anymore. The words were pouring out of him now, and he had no choice but to voice them and await the consequences. He moved toward Mickie, still talking. "I _don't know_ what it is about you that keeps pulling me back here!"

Dave allowed a bitter smile of his own to touch his lips. "I don't know if you know this, but you're like a stereo blasting on full volume. Whatever's going on inside your head--it's loud enough to drive me out of my fucking _mind_, but I can't forget about it. I can't push it to the side or block it out; I have to _feel _it."

He wanted to reach out and grab her, but he forced himself not to. _That_ would earn him a bullet to the brain for sure. Instead, Dave settled for looming over the diminutive brunette. When he spoke again, it was through gritted teeth. "Whether you want me to or not, I can feel your pain, and I want to know what caused it. More than that--" Dave stopped before he could utter the final part of that phrase, but it didn't matter; he could sense it hanging in the air between them.

_I want to make it stop..._

For several long seconds, neither one of them spoke. Then, gradually, a sound blurbed up from Mickie's throat. It took Dave a moment or two to recognize it as laughter. The brunette gazed up at him, her brown eyes flashing mockingly, her expression so much like that of Melina. But it was a derision born out of powerlessness, not power, and even her amusement couldn't conceal the desperation lurking behind her words.

"So you're going to fix me, then?" Mickie drawled, her tone cold and bitter. She ran one hand through her golden-brown locks, pushing them back from her damaged face. "You're going to _save_ me from the demons in my head? Go on, then. Take a peek." She gestured at her forehead. "I'll give you this one for free." Noticing Dave's hesitation, she added: "I'm warning you, though--you might not like what you see in there."

Dave stared at her a moment longer, then closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind, allowing it to touch hers...

What he saw in there sent him reeling backward, almost falling over his own feet. Dave reached out with one shaking arm, grabbing onto the brick wall for support, fighting the urge to dry heave. Mickie eyed him scornfully. "Told you so."

Dave didn't answer; he could barely even _breathe_. What he had seen in there...her and _Randy_..._together_...and the things he had _done _to her... While he and Melina had done things that were far more debauched, the shame and self-loathing coating this particular set of memories made the very act infinitely worse. It had been like witnessing a rape.

Maybe that wasn't an understatement. Maybe that's what it was.

Mickie watched him without pity. Her words, when she spoke, were uttered in a terse whisper: "I don't expect you to understand." She turned to go, but stopped as the vampire spoke.

"You hate him," Dave was having trouble talking; he was still trying to catch his breath. Nevertheless, he persisted. "For the things he does to you, for the way he makes you feel--if you had the chance, you'd start running and never stop." Mickie didn't move, didn't so much as turn her head to look in his direction. She didn't ask who he was talking about, however; it was as though she knew that he was referring to Randy.

The big man went on. "But you won't. You _can't_--because he has power over you. No matter how far you'd get, he'd always make you come crawling back." Where were these words coming from? From what he had glimpsed in her? Or from somewhere deep inside himself? "And because...deep down...he's the only one you can trust."

Mickie shivered a little at the sound of "trust." She turned her head a bit, looking at Dave without really looking at him. "How..." Her voice was cold but hesitant; Dave could feel her defenses faltering in the wake of this revelation. "How would _you _know anything about that?"

The vampire lifted his head, staring at the profile of Mickie's ruined face. "I know what it's like to feel powerless against somebody."

Mickie let out an involuntary snort of laughter. "Bullshit." But her voice sounded tentative, unsure.

Dave slowly rose to his feet, moving toward Mickie, taking care to remain within her line of sight. He could feel it, the tenuous connection between them, and the last thing he wanted to do at this point was shatter it by spooking her. "They didn't break you, you know that?" At this, Mickie flinched a little, but otherwise, gave no indication that she had heard.

Dave stepped closer, until he hovered over Mickie's right shoulder. His voice was soft, gentle. "They only scarred your face; they didn't touch what's inside _here_--" Without warning, he reached over her, sliding his hand beneath the open fold of her coat, resting his fingertips on the patch of skin just over her heart.

He was not prepared for the sudden wave of heat that rose up from Mickie's skin, as though her blood had turned to liquid fire. Or the sound of her heartbeat thundering in his ears, beating faster and faster.

Or the rush of desire that surged upward in him, threatening to take control. It wasn't her blood that he wanted, the vampire realized, it was _her_. He wanted Mickie, wanted to peel the clothes from her body, press his mouth to her skin, and make her cry out with the same need that was about to consume him. He wanted her more than he'd wanted any other woman--even more than Melina.

Dave went on, though he was finding it increasingly harder to talk; he was distracted by the intoxicating scent rising off of Mickie's skin. "You think...that everyone only sees the scars....but all I see...is how beautiful you are--"

With a sudden harsh cry, Mickie twisted free, backing away from him. "Just...just stop it!" she exclaimed. She pulled her long coat tighter around herself, glaring at the vampire. "Is _this_ how you put your victims at ease?" She gestured at the space between them. "Sweet-talk them a little before draining their blood?" The brunette shook her head. "You should have just ripped my throat out--_that_, at least, I would have understood."

Mickie backed away another step. Her features were still fixed in a glare, but her brown eyes were brimming with tears, and when she spoke, there was the faintest note of pleading in her voice. "I'm _damaged_, don't you understand? I'm _broken_, and _no one_ can fix me. _Especially _not you." Another step. "Do me a favor--do us _both _a favor and stay far away from me."

"Mickie, wait--" Dave tried to interject, but it was too late; the brunette was already sprinting out of the alley, turning a corner and disappearing from his sight. The vampire stared after her for a long moment, and then bowed his head, letting his breath out in a long sigh.

He had driven her away. He had pushed too hard and too fast, forced her to face things that she was emotionally and psychologically unable to. He would never see her again--in fact, he would be lucky if Mickie didn't track him down and shoot. They could never be together, and he had no right to demand something from her that she was unable to give.

Was he falling in love with her? How could he, when he barely knew her? And why would Fate play such a cruel trick on him, making him fall for the one woman who wanted nothing to do with him, who would always despise him for what he was.

And yet...how else to explain this _need_ inside him, this desire to hold her, to protect her, to be with her? How else to explain this connection between them that even _she _had to be aware of?

Dave was so preoccupied in his own thoughts, he never noticed the small grimy window above him silently slide shut.


	8. Chapter 8: Trust Me

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! And actually within a decent amount of time, no less. I proofread this some-bitch, but it was kind of late, so if there are any errors, I do apologize: I am the freaking Mayor of Typo City. Anyway, read, review, but please enjoy! Peace!**

**Thank you to **Esha Napoleon, basicHBKnomics, Hailey Egan, Animal Luvr 4 Life, Nastygrl25 **and** Ashleymassarophan1 **for reviewing the last chapter! You all ROCK! Love yas!

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Chapter 7: Trust Me

Mickie sat absolutely still on the edge of the bed, legs folded Indian-style, a lit cigarette in her hand. Slowly, she raised the cigarette to her lips, inhaling deeply and exhaling equally so, her brown eyes following the indistinct grey haze as it drifted upward toward the ceiling.

Most of the time, she felt as faint and evanescent as that smoke; a thing of little or no substance, barely visible to begin with, that any minute might disappear and melt away into nothing.

Mickie sighed, closing her eyes and pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. She hadn't slept last night. Granted, she rarely slept _at all _anymore, but last night's insomnia had been different. Instead of the usual sorrow and self-loathing that normally plagued her, Mickie had been kept awake by thoughts of that vamp.

Strange...she still didn't even know his name, and yet, the sight of him was becoming almost..._familiar._ His face appeared more and more in her thoughts, his voice seemed to echo in her ears. And even though he said very little, what he _did_ say stayed with her, resonating inside of her.

Like last night...when he had told her that she was beautiful.

He had been lying, of course. She wasn't beautiful--not anymore. _They_ had stolen that from her...along with everything else. But then...how else to explain the strange sensation that had welled up inside her when he had touched her, his fingertips burning like a match held against her skin? Her pulse had raced; she could hear her heart pounding in her ears, and almost gasped in astonishment. Her heart was a cold, dead thing; the only thing it had ever done for the past three years was pump blood ceaselessly through her body. What this vamp had induced was not the cold gray of despair or the artificial euphoria of heroin...but the deep gnawing ache of real, raw emotion.

He had made her feel. After what had happened all those years ago, Mickie had shut down, had even _accepted_ that she would never feel or care or experience any sort of sensation again...only to have that barrier of numbness shattered by a fucking _vampire_. He had made her feel--more than that, he had _wanted _her. She had sensed his desire, as though his touch was transmitting the emotion through his fingertips. It had scared her, that desire; so badly that she had fled rather than experience it anymore. But at the same time, in that split second before she had pulled her, Mickie couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, she wanted him, too...

_They can hear our thoughts, Mick..._

The brunette coughed, partly from the smoke, but also partly to choke back a bitter laugh. Good ol' John, making his presence known even when he wasn't there. This idea, this absurd notion that she could possess even a modicum of desire for a bloodsucker, was exactly the sort of thing that would have earned her a lecture from him, and it seemed that her subconscious was more than willing to step in in his absence.

Mickie could still recall their first meeting, more than two years ago, when John had tracked her down to tell her that her brother was dead. The shock in his blue eyes when he'd seen her ruined face for the first time. The long explanation about vampires that had followed; she only half-listening, and both of them painfully aware that it was useless, that it had come too late to provide her with anything except the bitterness of _knowing_.

_Some people are lucky, are born with a built-in brick wall, but as for the rest of us...most of the time, they know what we're thinking before we do..._

John blamed himself; not just for her, but for Rob as well. Mickie knew that even without asking. More than that, he assumed that she hated him, for being unable to save either one of them--but that wasn't exactly true. Truth was, she regarded John the same way she regarded all things--with _indifference_.

The way she _had_ regarded all things...until last night.

_And they use that to their advantage, Mick...They get inside your head and make you think that you can trust them..._

Was _that_ what was happening to her? Was this vamp warping her mind, manipulating her feelings to trick her into trusting him? These sensations, these fledgling emotions swelling inside of her--were they nothing more than a vampire mind-trick? Mickie wanted to believe that, wanted _more than anything_ to believe that--but somehow, she just couldn't bring herself to accept that.

Somehow, deep down, she knew that he was sincere--and she didn't know which of those two things was more terrifying. That a vamp could actually see her as something other than a hot meal...or that she could be aware of it.

Mickie's sensitive hearing picked up the soft sound of footsteps outside her apartment, and she sat up straighter, calling out: "It's open!" half a second before the tentative knock on the door. She heard the knob turn, followed by muffled cursing and the one or two shoulder bumps it took to force the door open, and finally, Cody's hesitant voice: "Mickie?"

The brunette leaned over, extinguishing her cigarette in an old coffee mug that served as an ashtray. "Leave them on the table." Stretching a little, she slid down off the bed, strolling over to the doorway and leaning against the frame, watching silently as Cody deposited the brown paper bags of groceries on her rickety table.

It was another arrangement, per Randy--essential, in her case. When the thirst had first started, Mickie had cut meat out of her diet completely, but soon even that wasn't enough. Certainly not enough to keep the scent of raw meat from driving her crazy every time she walked into a grocery store. So now Cody and Ted delivered her groceries, eying her warily like some kind of dangerous attraction at the zoo--and probably silently resenting her as well, for adding unnecessary concern to their carefree young lives.

Mickie didn't really care. She knew enough about temptation to know that a slab of raw meat was only a few steps removed from a living animal...or a human being. And if she ever got to that point...then she was lost.

Cody must have sensed her staring, because he glanced up, starting a little when he saw her standing silently in the doorway. The dark-haired kid quickly averted his gaze, fumbling around inside one of the bags as though searching for something. "I got you some tofu this time," he blurted out. "My girlfriend makes it sometimes; it's not bad. Plus, it's got protein--" His voice trailed off, and he finally snapped his mouth shut.

Mickie regarded him without speaking. Of the two (three, if you counted Randy), she liked Cody the best. Sure, he was terrified of her, but unlike Ted, who still treated her like a sideshow freak, Cody actually went out of his way to talk to her like a human being--with varying degrees of success, of course.

The dark-haired kid jammed his hands into his pockets, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. "I should...I should go." He turned to leave, heading for the door. He had just reached out to grasp the handle when Mickie's hand touched his arm, making him jump.

"Cody..." Cody turned, his eyes widening at the sight of Mickie, suddenly right next to him. He was probably wondering how she'd snuck up on him so silently--or so fast. The brunette focused on a point beside his head, unable to meet his eyes directly. "Do you...do you remember that night a couple weeks back, when I almost broke that chick's jaw?"

Cody's eyes lit up, though with recognition rather than pleasure. "Sure, I--"

"Do you remember that guy who stopped me? Big guy? Dark hair?" _Vampire_?...she almost added, but managed to bite her tongue at the last second. Cody didn't answer; merely nodded this time. Mickie took a deep breath, steeling herself, and then reached into her back pocket, extracting a folded piece of paper. She handed it to the dark-haired kid. "If he comes in again...and you're there...could you..." Her voice, normally so flat and indifferent, faltered. "Could you...give this to him?" Her voice faltered again, and as she glanced down at her hand, she noticed that it was shaking. "If he asks, tell him...tell him whatever you want."

Cody stared at her for a few moments, before nodding slowly. "Sure thing, Mickie." He carefully secured the paper in his back pocket. He had just turned to leave for the second time when Mickie added: "And Cody...don't tell Randy."

At this, Cody froze, turning back to look at her with puzzled curiosity. Mickie met his gaze without flinching, trying to keep her expression neutral, trying not to reveal anything more. Lord knows she had revealed too much already. After a moment or two, the dark-haired kid nodded once again. "All right."

"Thanks..." Mickie murmured, more to herself than to him. Still, Cody didn't move, but continued to stare at her, studying her. His nervousness was gone; he looked almost comfortable with her. With one hand, the brunette reached out, touching Cody's cheek. He jumped a little at her touch, but didn't pull away; a credit to him, really. "Don't worry," Mickie remarked softly. "I won't bite..." Then, just as she saw Cody relax a bit, she added: "..._yet._"

Cody's eyes grew even wider, and he backed away from her, yanking open the door and exiting out into the hall. Mickie could hear his frantic footfalls as he sprinted down the stairs. A sardonic smile touched the corner of her mouth. Cody was sweet, he really was--but he was better off keeping his distance from her. They _all _were better off.

The brunette turned, walking past the grocery-laden table, moving back into the bedroom. The heavy curtains were pulled back, offering a limited view of the sunset. A few more minutes, and the sun would drop below the horizon, casting the world around her into darkness. A darkness she would one day inhabit.

Mickie bowed her head, pressing her hands to her face. This was crazy, perhaps the craziest thing she'd ever done. What was she _doing_, seeking out the attention of a vamp--a being from the same species that had thrown her entire life into misery and ruin? If John found out--if _anyone _found out...her life would become..._complicated_...to say the least. And complicated was the last thing she needed right now.

But what surprised the brunette even more than her actions was the fact that she _really didn't care_. John would be irate, yes, if he found out--but then again, John had the luxury of getting mad at things like this. He had the luxury of seeing the world in stark black and white because whenever he went to bed at night, he knew that he would still be human the next morning. He didn't know what it was like to exist in the twilight between two worlds; to belong to both and neither one at the same time.

Mickie glanced up again, looking at the fiery orange ball of the sun as it dipped down past the buildings. How many more of these did she have left? How many more, before the sun became her worst enemy? And once that happened...then what?

The brunette looked over her shoulder at her nightstand. Next to her makeshift ashtray was the gun. John had given her that, too, to use on vamps--and she intended to use it to that purpose.

Contrary to her prior assertion, she wasn't going to wait around for John to kill her once she turned. No...the day she woke up with a sharper set of teeth would be the day she jammed the barrel of that gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger.

* * *

It was going to rain.

So far, the weather had delivered nothing except sporadic rumbles of thunder and intermittent lightning flashes that briefly lit up the night sky, but nevertheless, Dave knew that a downpour was imminent. He could smell it in the air, wafting past him on the wind. He could sense it in the hesitant way people glanced at the sky, before hurrying for cover. It was going to rain--and it was going to rain _hard_.

The Viper's Pit was packed, filled nearly to capacity, but the big man squeezed his way in nonetheless. Inside, the combined clamor of thoughts and feelings nearly deafened him, and he had to shove his hands into his pockets to resist the urge to cover his ears. Not that it would have made any difference; _these_ sounds couldn't be blocked out so easily.

The vampire settled for gritting his teeth and lowering his mental volume knob as low as it would go. He wasn't worrying about locating potential prey; he wasn't that hungry, anyway. In the five days that had passed since his last encounter with Mickie, everything in his life had taken on the tediousness of an unwanted chore. Hunting, feeding, _fucking_--nothing gave him pleasure anymore. It was like he was moving through life in a daze, a fog, and the only parts of it that seemed real, the only things that stood out with any sort of clarity...were his few brief meetings with Mickie James. He couldn't remember the name of the club he had visited the night before--but he could recall her face, the line of her neck, the bright sheen of her hair, with perfect acuity.

She had taken him over, body and soul. She had taken root inside his head, pushing everything else into insignificance. It took everything that he had to act normal, to go about his life as though nothing had changed, but even that was starting to fail; Melina had begun to notice the changes in him.

His fascination with Mickie James was rapidly becoming an obsession--and if it continued in this vein much further, it would consume him.

"Hey, big guy!"

Dave blinked, returning slowly to the present, staring dumbly at the dark-haired kid in front of him. The vampire vaguely remembered him as the bartender who had served him his first night in the Viper's Pit--what was his name? Chris? Corey? _Cody_, that had been it.

Cody grinned, seemingly unaware of the twenty other customers clamoring for his attention. Instead, he slid two things across the scarred surface of the bar. One was a beer. The other was a folded slip of paper.

The vampire grabbed the beer, draining it in several savage greedy gulps. The beer tasted good, if nothing else. Too bad he couldn't get drunk--he would really _love_ to be drunk right now. The paper, on the other hand, presented somewhat of a mystery. Frowning, the big man picked it up between thumb and forefinger, flipping it open.

The message was brief, scrawled in a hasty but legible hand:

_I have to talk to you._

Underneath it was an address. There was no signature.

Dave looked back up, his dark eyes narrowing in suspicion. This Cody kid, he didn't seem like the kind to get involved with Hunters, but...hell, the way he had been sleepwalking through life the past couple days, there could have been a world war going on in the streets, and he probably wouldn't have noticed. The big man tilted his head to one side, his eyes never leaving the bartender's. "Who gave you this?" he asked warily.

Cody's expression turned solemn, and Dave wondered how he could have thought this kid was working for the Hunters; there was an aura of sincerity and childlike eagerness radiating from him that was almost sickening in its purity. The bartender's lips moved, uttering only one word, one _name_:

"_Mickie_."

That was all the answer Dave needed. Crumpling the piece of paper up in his fist, he turned and elbowed his way through the crowd, exiting the way he had came.

Cody's solemn expression suddenly turned to one of panic. "Wait!" the bartender yelled out frantically. "You forgot to pay for your..." But Dave was already out the door. "...beer." Cody finished lamely.

From his vantage point near the back door, Randy watched the bartender hang his head in sheepish shame. The Viper's Pit owner crossed his arms over his chest, his azure irises taking in the scene with cold, reptilian appraisal. Finally, without saying a word, he pushed his body off the wall, pushing through the swinging doors and disappearing into the back room.

* * *

The address turned out to be an enormous old building in the stages of major renovation. Sheets of heavy transparent plastic covered all of the doors and windows; it was through one of these coverings that Dave slipped past, moving cautiously into the building. The entire structure had been gutted; he could see straight up two or three stories, the cloudy night sky shining down through a massive hole in the roof. The moon was barely visible, covered almost entirely by passing clouds. The occasional flash of lightning provided some additional illumination.

The vampire looked around him. At first, all he could see was stacks of lumber and cinder blocks strewn all over the floor. Then, he saw the brief orange flare of a lit cigarette, and all at once, the slender form of Mickie came into focus. She was less than ten feet away, seating on a pile of boards. She was leaning against a steel support beam; her back was to him.

Just the sight of her, after five days, was enough to send Dave into speechlessness, and before he could collect his thoughts enough to decide how best to announce his presence, Mickie extinguished the cigarette, glancing back over her shoulder at him. The cadet hat was back on her head, throwing her face into even deeper shadow. "It's been almost a week." Her tone was casual, at least on the surface--but there was no mistaking the hardness in her voice. "I was starting to think that you weren't going to show."

Dave took a step toward her, then another. "Don't tell me that you've been waiting out here all this time just for me." His tone was just as forced as hers. Something about this, this whole setup, was _wrong_--he just couldn't figure out _what_.

Mickie made a sound in her throat that could have almost been a laugh. "What else do I have to do with my time?" Abruptly, she hopped down off the stack of lumber, turning to face him. The vampire felt his mouth go dry. Clenched in Mickie's other hand--the one he hadn't seen until just now--was the gun. The gun loaded with lethal silver bullets.

The big man immediately backed away, holding up his hand. "_Don't_--" he heard himself say. "Don't--"

"Excuse me," Mickie lifted up the gun, not pointing it at him, but making it more of a threat that it had been a second ago. There was a ghost of a smile on her lips. "_I've_ got the gun--it's _my _turn to talk now."

Dave didn't answer; what was he going to do, _argue_ with her? Thankfully, Mickie lowered the gun back down to her side, pointing it toward the ground. She stared at him for a long moment, studying him, before suddenly blurting out: "I don't trust anyone, all right?" She gestured behind him, toward the outside world. "Not Cody or Ted, not _Randy_, not even John--" Dave wondered vaguely who "John" was, but didn't interrupt; after all, _she _had the gun.

The brunette went on. "There were only two people...two people in the _world_ that I trusted...and they're both dead now." She stared at Dave, as though daring him to challenge this. "They're _dead_--and I should be." With her other hand, she groped at the black scarf wrapped around her neck, pulling it loose and exposed the naked line of her throat.

Dave involuntarily sucked in a breath. There were at least four or five sets of bite marks marring Mickie's throat. It was as though...whatever had attacked her had just kept biting her, not for food, but for _fun_. And even at this distance and in this light, the wounds looked raw, as though they had never really healed. As though she was--

The vampire's eyes grew wide. _He understood now_.

Mickie watched his reaction, her expression scornful. "Starting to see the picture, big man?" she remarked. "Bite someone enough times, and they'll turn whether they want to or not." She let go of the scarf, and it fell to the floor, puddling in a pool of black wool. "They didn't even give me the _luxury_ of dying. No...I get to _live_, to watch as I turn into a goddamn _monster_." She gestured a little with the gun, and Dave felt his heart briefly leap into his throat. "Do you even understand what that's like?" The vampire realized that she was addressing him. "To watch yourself change a little bit each day, and realize that the person you were, the person you used to be...is dead now?"

Dave didn't even realize that he was speaking; all he heard was the word passing between his lips: "Yes--"

"No, you _don_'_t_!" Mickie's voice was almost a scream, and for a second, Dave was certain that she was going to shoot him. But the brunette merely reached back, grabbing her hat and tearing it from her head, her golden-brown hair tumbling down around her shoulders. "How could you understand? You're a _vampire_; I was _attacked _by fucking _vampires_! I can't trust _anybody_--least of all you! I should _kill _you right now--"

At this, Mickie raised the gun, aiming it at Dave. The big man felt his heart slow, and then stop. The brunette didn't fire, however, but continued talking: "--so then why--" Her voice faltered, and the arm holding the gun began to shake. When Mickie spoke again, her voice was a piteous whisper: "_--why do I trust you_?"

Dave let his voice out in one long surprised gasp. In that moment, he had heard in Mickie's voice the same thoughts, the same fears, the same emotions that had been plaguing him since the day he had met her.

Mickie went on. Her voice shook; her brown eyes shone with tears. "Why do I _trust_ you?" she repeated. "Why do I feel _safe_ around you--when I haven't felt safe _anywhere _for the last three years?" She shook her head slowly. "And part of me...part of me is saying that this is just a trick--that you're just trying to manipulate me. Part of me wants to _hate_ you...but I _can't_." She swallowed hard. "I can't hate you, and I don't understand _why_--"

Dave barely knew what he was doing; in less that a second, he had closed the space between them. Pulling Mickie to him, he kissed her.

For a moment, there was nothing, and Dave quickly steeled himself for the shot, for the inevitable fiery pain as the bullet tore into his heart...and then he heard the clatter of the weapon hitting the concrete, followed by Mickie's hands gripping his shirt as she kissed him back. Dave slid his hands back to her hair, burying his hands in her silken tresses. He could feel her body pressing against his, could feel her mouth melting open beneath his, and he could taste her desire: pure, intense, and unscarred...

The storm finally broke, sending drenching torrents of rain through the open ceiling down onto them. The two broke apart, staring at each other. Mickie's hair was already soaked; wet tendrils clung to her face. "I don't even know your name," she finally said, her voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

"It's Dave," the vampire replied with some effort; his head was still spinning from that last kiss.

"Dave," the brunette repeated. For a second, she continued to stand there; then, jamming her hat back down over her wet hair, she extended one of her hands to him. "Follow me."

Dave looked down at her hand, and then back up to her face. Without any further hesitation, he accepted it, following behind Mickie as she led him back out into the night.

He knew that he should be more than a little concerned right now; after all, Mickie could be leading him to his doom. But the only thing the vampire cared about, the only thing he was _aware_ of--was the light pressure of Mickie's hand gripping his...and the memory of her lips pressed against his.


	9. Chapter 9: Beautiful

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I cannot TELL you how bad the writer's block was writing this chapter; I would literally sit in front of the computer screen for hours, trying to put words together. I'm not one hundred percent happy with it, but generally I like it, and it is done, and I hope you enjoy it. Peace!**

**Thank you to **Esha Napoleon, basicHBKnomics, nikki1335, Ashleymassarophan1, Hailey Egan **and **Nastygrl25 **for reviewing the last chapter! Love yas!

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Chapter 8: Beautiful

Cody dragged the damp cloth over the scratched wooden counter, wiping away the spilled beverages and cigarette ashes left by that evening's patrons. A few feet away, his coworker Ted was preoccupied with straightening the tables; returning them to their original configurations, upending the chairs and stacking them on top. Neither one of them so much as glanced at the register; it was pretty much an unspoken rule at the Viper's Pit that only Randy got to count up the daily take.

Cody looked down, his eyes focused on his menial task, but his mind elsewhere. For as long as he'd been working here--what was it, almost five years now?--it had always been just the three of them; Randy, Ted, and himself. He and Ted had been hired on the same day, in fact; he could still remember the interview Randy had held with them--if you could call _that_ an interview.

The shadowy confines of the back room. The rickety chairs that squeaked every time he or Ted shifted uncomfortably. The cold stare of the Viper's Pit owner as he watched them from behind his desk, his blue eyes scrutinizing everything but betraying nothing. _I've only got two rules..._Randy had said. _The first is that you don't talk about what you see in here..._

Here, he'd paused, favoring his two potential employees with an icy glare that made the first seem almost welcoming by comparison. _The second is that you don't question my decisions EVER..._

Cody remembered sharing a puzzled look with Ted, thinking _Is this guy for REAL?..._ But sure enough, both of them had accepted the position, and within a week, both of them came to understand what Randy had meant by his first rule. In his first month, Cody had witnessed things he thought only existed in horror films. It had bothered him, horrified him even, and during that first month, he had come dangerously close to losing his mind.

But the mind is a terrific adapter, able to inure us to the worse of life's atrocities, and gradually, Cody _did_ adapt, regarding his boss's dealings with vampires not as a grotesque novelty, but as a normal aspect of his employment at the Viper's Pit. Just another chore to complete, another item on his checklist: sweep the floor, wash the glasses--store the packets of O Positive in the back of the fridge...

He'd thought he was finally immune to it...and then, one warm summer night, Mickie James had staggered in...

Cody's eyes slid from the counter to the patch of floor in front of the door. You couldn't see it now--the boards had since been repainted--but in his mind's eye, he could still make out the bloody footprints, the enormous irregular blotch where she'd collapsed and almost bled out. So much blood; its hot metallic scent had filled the air, almost suffocating him. There were some nights where he almost thought that he could still smell it. But what had terrified him even more than the sight of all that blood was the look in Mickie's brown eyes. They had the wet, terrified look of a wounded animal, but there had also been this _awareness_, this awful sense of _understanding, _as though she'd known even then that she was going to die...

She didn't die, of course. At least...not physically. But it was pretty clear whenever he looked into her eyes after that that Mickie James' soul was long dead; all that remained was a scarred outer shell, a hollow empty thing that walked and talked.

Cody didn't know what Randy's _arrangement_ with her was--that fell under the heading of the second rule--but he understood his boss well enough to know that it wasn't out of affection or protectiveness...but _control_. To Randy, Mickie wasn't a person; merely another _possession_. Cody could see that in every one of their conversations that he had witnessed; could see his boss's utter contempt for her, and Mickie's absolute hatred toward him.

He _owned_ her, and part of that ownership demanded her suffering. Because she _was_ suffering; despite all of Mickie's defenses, it was impossible to miss the dull misery lurking in the depths of her brown irises. She was _changing_, moving toward a destiny that she clearly did not want, but was powerless to prevent. Whatever had happened to her that night had fractured her beyond repair; what Randy had done had broken her utterly.

_Please...I don't want to die..._That was what she had said that night, her voice a gurgling whisper, blood trickling from the corners of her mouth. Cody could still hear it in his head, could still feel the wet slickness of her skin as he pressed his hands to her wounded throat to stop the bleeding. At the time, he'd thought that he was saving her life; he had no idea that he'd merely been prolonging her pain. But now...every time that he saw her ruined face...every time that he walked into her apartment and saw her staring at the sun, as though trying to memorize its appearance...he found himself wishing that he'd pulled his hands away and allowed her life to bleed away. And he could tell, whenever Mickie looked at him, that she wished the same thing...

Maybe that was why he had agreed to pass on the note, had decided to make himself the messenger in a matter that was really none of his business--because when Mickie had asked him, it had been the first time he had seen something in her eyes that resembled hope...

Randy's voice cut across his thoughts, jarring him back to the present. "Ted, take out the trash." Cody looked up to see the Viper's Pit owner standing directly in front of him, his blue eyes focused not on him, but on his coworker.

Ted cast a look around the bar, his handsome features assuming an expression of mild irritation. "Couldn't it wait a sec?" the blond kid complained. "I'm almost done here; besides--" He pointed at Cody. "It's Cody's turn tonight--"

"I'm not asking _Cody_; I'm asking _you_." Randy's deep voice was light, casual--but so completely devoid of human emotion that it made Cody's blood run cold. The dark-haired young man shivered, grateful that he wasn't on the receiving end of the look Ted must be getting right now. "So do it." The Viper's Pit owner continued, and when Ted still didn't move, he uttered one final word, his tone barely above a whisper, but still ringing with the sound of absolute authority: "_Now_."

At this, the blond kid flinched, ducking his head so as to avoid Randy's gaze. "Sure thing, boss," he mumbled meekly, his shoulders slumping. Snatching the bulky plastic bag, stuffed full of refuse, off the floor, Ted headed for the back door. The Viper's Pit owner watched him depart, and at the sound of the rear exit door crashing open, he turned his attention to Cody.

As soon as Randy's eyes locked onto his, Cody gulped involuntarily. Nothing about this job, not even his occasional interactions with vampires, scared him more than dealing with his boss face-to-face. At least vamps remembered what it was like to be human, or knew how to fake it--after all, their survival depended on it.

Randy, on the other hand...it was as though he had never learned in the first place. His emotions always seemed forced, as though they were merely reflexes, automatic responses to cover the fact that nothing existed beneath his handsome facade. It was his eyes, in the end, that always gave him away. No matter what expression his face displayed, it never reached those azure irises; they always remained as empty and lifeless as those of a shark.

In some ways, Randy was as dead inside as Mickie. The only difference was that Mickie had had her soul ripped out of her...while Randy had never had one to begin with.

The Viper's Pit owner smiled, and Cody felt his core temperature drop several degrees. "So..." Randy drawled, his voice still pleasantly casual. "What did you and that guy talk about?"

Cody's stomach inverted itself, and the dark-haired young man quickly glanced down at the counter, drawing the wet cloth over the already-clean surface as he racked his brain for a suitable answer. "What guy?" Cody eventually stammered, after a few uncomfortable seconds had ticked by. "Lot of people in here tonight."

Randy chuckled, and the sound of it made Cody feel as though he had been stabbed in the ear with an icicle. "Oh, _you know_...big guy, built like a bouncer? Looked like he could tear your head off if he felt like it?" Randy paused for a moment, his voice taking on a note of almost-satisfaction as he added: "As I seem to recall, left without paying his tab?"

Cody cringed, his hand closing around the damp terrycloth of the towel. _Crap_. He used to wonder why Randy never bothered with security cameras; now he understood. Nothing, no matter how insignificant, ever escaped the Viper's Pit owner's notice. The dark-haired young man looked up, steeling himself against the inevitable lack of _anything_ in his boss's eyes, hoping that his own voice didn't sound forced as he spoke. "Oh, yeah, sorry about that." Cody shrugged. "He ran out before I--"

"I'm really not interested in your _shortcomings_ as a bartender," Randy interrupted shortly, his tone brusque and impatient. Cody snapped his mouth shut, swallowing hard. The Viper's Pit owner tilted his head to the side, studying his employee with detached interest. "What I _am_ interested in is the note you gave him."

Cody felt a wave of cold slam into him; his skin broke out in goosebumps, and the hair on the back of his neck actually stood straight up. One of the things that unnerved him most about his boss was his ability to turn every conversation, no matter how innocuous, into an interrogation; the end result being that even if you hadn't done anything, you certainly _felt_ as though you _had_. The dark-haired young man gripped the towel even more tightly, forcing himself to meet Randy's eyes, to bite back the urge to scream in terror. "What note?" he asked, trying to make his tone as casual as Randy's. Unfortunately, fear had already taken hold of him, clamping around his insides, and there was no masking the guilty comprehension in his voice.

With deadly speed, Randy's hand shot out, latching onto Cody's wrist. His fingers dug into the dark-haired kid's skin, and this time, Cody almost _did_ scream. He could feel the strength in his boss's grip, and looking into his eyes, saw once again the emptiness, the _detachment_. He realized at that moment that Randy could break his arm if he chose and truly not give a damn.

The Viper's Pit owner was speaking, his voice like the harsh sinister echo of a snake's rattle. "You disappoint me, Cody. I would have thought, after all this time, that you would have at least become a better liar." Randy leaned over the counter, his tone dropping to a low murmur. "There's only _one_ reason, _one_, why he would be in here tonight--and I hate to break it to you, Coddles, but it's not to stare at your pretty face." Randy reached up with his free hand, grabbing Cody's chin in a sign of mock affection. His fingers dug even deeper into the dark-haired kid's wrist, compressing the joint, and Cody bit back a cry of pain.

A tiny amused smile touched the Viper's Pit owner's mouth as he regarded his employee. "I know you're covering for her." His smile grew even broader as Cody's eyes widened. "How noble of you. _Stupid_--but noble. And while I'm sure Mickie appreciates your show of chivalry...she's not the one who signs your paychecks." Randy paused for emphasis. "_I am_." His blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "So why don't you be a good boy and tell me what that note said?"

Retorts flew to Cody's lips; that it was none of Randy's damn business, that he had _promised _Mickie--and then one glance at his boss's dead blue irises told him that it was useless. Because Randy always won. It didn't matter how much Cody struggled, how eloquently he lied or argued...in the end, Randy always won. Even Mickie had to understand that fact.

Maybe she already did--and even more so than him.

The dark-haired kid let out a low sigh, offering a silent apology. _Sorry, Mick..._ Randy listened intently as Cody rattled off the note's contents; the terse message and the address scribbled beneath. For a moment, the Viper's Pit owner stood there, frozen, clearly lost in his own thoughts. Finally, as though remembering that he still had ahold of Cody, he released his employee, murmuring "Interesting..." under his breath and turning away from the counter.

As he did so, Cody couldn't prevent himself from blurting out a question of his own. "What's the big deal, anyway?" the dark-haired kid asked, massaging his bruised wrist gingerly. He knew that he was venturing into dangerous territory--potential termination of employment territory--but in spite of that, he pressed on. "Why's it any of _our _business what she--"

"Because that guy's not human, Cody," Randy interrupted brusquely without looking back. He strolled across the floor to the front door, shoving his hands into his pockets. "He's a vamp."

At this, Cody almost choked, sound escaping from his mouth in a series of incoherent noises. Unconsciously, he snatched the towel off the counter, twisting it between his hands in what had become a nervous habit for him over the years. "Are you _serious_?" the dark-haired kid hissed, when he finally regained his voice. He frowned, his expression creasing with confusion and concern. "But...but _why_? After what happened...why would Mick want anything to do with a vampire?"

Randy pressed his forearm against the glass, staring impassively out at the dark street. "That's what I want to know..." the Viper's Pit owner eventually replied, more to himself than to Cody.

* * *

Dave paused, resting one hand on the scarred surface of the kitchen table, as he took in his surroundings. The apartment was dark, almost pitch black--not that that particular factor mattered much to a vampire, though. His superhuman senses were still able to pick out the varying shapes of doorways and furniture with ease--as well as the despair coating every surface, as though Mickie's suffering had actually seeped into the apartment's pores.

_This_ was her lair, her sanctuary, the one place--perhaps the _only_ place--where she felt safe. And she had brought him here--not _the_ monster, but _a_ monster; a being from the same species that had caused her anguish in the first place. For not the first time, Dave found himself wondering not only why he was here, but why she had chosen to trust him--since, by her own admission, she didn't trust anyone. He wondered what it was about him that was so different...and then realized that Mickie was probably thinking the same thing.

He heard a click behind him, and tensed briefly, before realizing that it was only the sound of the lock sliding into place. A second later, he felt Mickie's warm presence at his side, her hand grazing the fabric of his sleeve. "You're soaked," the brunette remarked.

Dave glanced down at his clothes. He _was_ soaked; both of them were. Mickie's apartment wasn't too far from the Viper's Pit, but the rain hadn't let up once during their walk here. He looked back up at Mickie. "Guess I better take these off, then," he replied, feeling desire flicker through him as he caught the double meaning of that phrase. The brunette didn't answer, merely stood there, staring back at him. Hesitantly, Dave reached up, touching her face, cupping her cheek in his hand.

Almost immediately, he felt Mickie's skin infuse with heat, felt her lean into his touch as a soft sigh escaped her throat--and then, all of a sudden, she was pulling away from him, turning her back, striding across the room to rummage around inside a nearby closet. "Here," Dave saw something hurtling toward him, and shot his hands up to shield himself. A mass of soft fabric slammed into him, and he realized it was only a blanket. Dave gathered the folded coverlet in his arms, looking back at Mickie. The brunette shrugged. "It's all I have." She nodded over her shoulder. "Bathroom's back there; you can hang your stuff on the shower rod." She looked at him, and another long moment of silence elapsed as something unspoken passed between them. Once again, though, Mickie was the one to break it, averting her gaze and heading into the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind her.

Dave stared at the closed door for a moment, and then walked back to the bathroom, not bothering to snap on the light. Swinging the door partially closed, he stripped off his drenched garments, obeying Mickie's directive and hanging them over the shower rod. That accomplished, he wrapped himself in the proffered blanket, draping it around his massive body almost like a toga.

The vampire paused for a moment, gazing at his reflection in the small spotted mirror above the sink. _What are you doing?_...a small voice inside him demanded. _This could be a trap--you could walk out of this bathroom to find a gun aimed at your head. This is probably the stupidest thing that you've ever done--_

_ Maybe..._the big man answered. _But it's also the only thing I've done in the past month that makes any sense..._That, more than anything else, seemed to quell any remaining objections, and the inner voice fell silent.

Slowly, tensing his body for the worse, Dave pulled the door open--but the small hallway outside was empty. Up ahead, he could see a pool of weak golden light, spilling out from beneath the bedroom door. The vampire moved toward it, drawn to the illumination like a moth to a flame--the same way that he was drawn to _her_.

The door was ajar; Dave paused outside it, peering through the crack. His breath caught in his throat when he saw Mickie inside. She was naked, at least from the waist up, in the process of pulling a black robe up over her shoulders. The light from the nearby nightstand made her skin glow...but it also illustrated the abuse inflicted on her, the scratches and claw marks marring her back. Mickie paused, reaching back to massage her neck, her fingers running over the scars with a kind of absent familiarity.

Dave was suddenly seized by the insane urge to burst into the room, pull Mickie into his arms, and press his mouth against those lines of scar tissue decorating her skin...as though by doing so, he could somehow drain away her pain, her suffering; as though he could make the marks disappear and make her whole again. The big man shifted his weight, and the floor beneath him immediately protested with a loud CREAK. Mickie jumped at the sound, pulling her robe up and belting it hastily. She turned around, holding it closed at her neck, shielding as much of her body from view as possible. The startled look in her brown eyes quickly died away when she saw that it was him. "You scared me," she remarked after a moment or two.

Dave didn't speak at first; in his mind's eye, he could still see the curve of Mickie's bare back, the creamy luminescence of her skin in the light. "Sorry," he finally managed to say after a few seconds, trying to talk through a mouth that had suddenly gone dry.

Mickie regarded him for a moment or two, then shrugged, turning and taking a seat on the bed. She nodded at the space beside her, and Dave took that as his cue to join her. He moved into the room, easing his huge frame onto the tiny twin bed, taking care to leave some space between him and Mickie.

"So..." Mickie began, stretching the word out before growing quiet again.

"So..." Dave replied, echoing her sentiment. The silence between them stretched on and on, and the big man used it as an opportunity to study the brunette seated next to him. Her hair was loose, and still damp, tumbling down her back in dark golden-brown waves. The light hit her face in such a way that it illuminated her profile, accentuating the delicate precision of her features. In the soft golden glow of the lamp, the scars bisecting her face seemed less harsh, less disfiguring. Her eyes were downcast, her lids nearly shut. Dave's gaze traveled downward, along the line of her neck, pausing a moment at the dark ragged holes tattooed on her throat. Mickie held the robe closed, but he could still make out the curves of her body beneath the bulky garment. He could hear her heartbeat, pounding rapidly within her chest...and he could smell her desire, rising off her skin and mingling with her scent.

He wanted her, so bad that it _hurt_, and deep inside, he could hear the faint echo of the beast calling to him, urging him to _take her_. But Dave bit it back, forcing himself to remain where he was. Even the most intense desire couldn't eradicate the innate protectiveness he felt toward her, and he couldn't, _wouldn't_, force her to do anything that she didn't want to do.

As though sensing the weight of his gaze on her, Mickie hunched her shoulders a little, pulling the robe tighter around herself. Reaching over, she abruptly switched off the light, casting the small space into darkness once more. The brunette bowed her head, a tendril of hair caressing her cheek. "Force of habit." she whispered. "I feel more..._comfortable_...in the dark." Mickie lifted her chin, staring straight ahead. For a moment, her jaw tightened, and Dave heard the dull roar of her inner pain rise up, wailing shrilly before descending back into silence. "I think you understand why."

Her gaze swung to him, and Dave felt something inside him clench as her brown eyes met his, as though her stare had somehow penetrated his soul. "Not that it makes any difference to you," she continued. "I can still see you staring at me." Mickie looked away, ducking her head once more. "It's strange, though..." Her tone, while still cautious, had become almost thoughtful. "You don't look at me the same way everyone else does. It's like...like you don't even see the scars."

"Mickie..." Tentatively, Dave reached out to touch her arm. Mickie flinched a little at the contact, but didn't pull away. "They aren't what I see when I look at you."

"And what do you see?" At this, Mickie glanced over at him, her voice now faintly challenging.

In spite of himself. Dave felt a smile touch his mouth. He slowly slid his hand up her arm, putting his finger under her chin and tilting her face up to meet his. "Your eyes." he answered simply. As he said it, he saw Mickie's expression go slack in shock. Dave slowly ran his fingers over her cheek, feeling the rough texture of scar tissue and the smoothness of unblemished skin. "The fire...the fire I see burning in them." He hesitated for a second. "You think that you're dead...but you're more alive than anyone I've ever known."

He saw Mickie begin to shake, and started to pull his hand away, but the brunette grabbed it before he could break contact, pressing it to her face with both of hers. Her voice, when she spoke, trembled, filled with unshed tears. "I want you to tell me something," Mickie whispered. "And I want it to be the truth." Her hands closed a little tighter over his. "I don't care if everything you tell me after this is a lie--but I want _this_ to be the one thing that was true." She hesitated for a few seconds. "When you told me that I was beautiful..." Another pause. "...did you mean it?"

Dave didn't hesitate, didn't even stop to consider the consequences of what he was saying; all he heard was the word tumbling out of his mouth: "Yes."

Mickie froze, her mouth dropping open as a startled gasp escaped her throat. Tears pooled in her eyes, gathering at her lower lashes, spilling down her cheeks one by one. She swayed a little, sagged back down toward the bed, and Dave quickly gathered her into his arms, gripping the back of her neck, and capturing her mouth in a kiss. Just like before, there was a moment, an instant of hesitation from Mickie. But it was rapidly eclipsed as the brunette arched her body toward his, entwining her arms around his neck as she kissed him back. They fumbled briefly, trying to locate each other through the layers of fabric surrounding them, before Dave eventually succeeded in pulling Mickie onto his lap. Mickie straddled him, wrapping her legs around his waist. The movement nestled her body more closely against his, and Mickie let out a soft gasp--she must have felt his arousal through the swathes of blanket.

Her hushed cries were enough to incite the vampire, and he pulled her down into another intense kiss. Moving slowly downward, he kissed her jaw, her throat, taking care to avoid the bite marks. Mickie gasped as his tongue trailed along her skin, reaching up blindly to grip his neck. Dave moved lower, kissing her collarbone, her chest. He paused at her breasts, pressing his face against the space in between them, and inhaling deeply, breathing in her scent. Taking hold of the edges of the robe, he pulled it open and off her shoulders, stripping her naked to the waist.

Mickie tensed, and Dave felt her pulling back from him, drawing her arms up over her body to cover herself. He gently took hold of her wrists, preventing her from doing so, bringing her arms back down to her sides. "Don't," he whispered. Mickie stared at him in surprise, but didn't struggle in his grasp. Leaning back a little, Dave swept his gaze over the length of her upper body, taking in her full breasts, the taut plane of her abdomen, the tiny circumference of her waist. It was just like looking at her face--once you looked past the scars, all you saw was perfection.

The brunette watched him, her expression anticipatory and fearful, as though already expecting the inevitable rejection. With effort, Dave tore his eyes from her body, bringing them up to meet hers once again. "Beautiful..." he murmured, reverence creeping into his tone. He rested his hands on her abdomen, running them slowly up the length of her torso, pausing at her breasts, cupping the warm soft mounds in his palms. "You're so beautiful..." Mickie gasped, arching her back as he pressed his mouth to her skin once more, taking one breast in his mouth, then the other. His hands were under her robe now, caressing her thighs, seeking out the source of pleasure between her legs...

Mickie moaned, and clung to him even tighter as his fingers found her, slid into her. She was warm and wet, her inner walls pulsating against his fingers. Dave tilted his head up, meeting Mickie's eyes in the darkness. "You want me..." he murmured, a note of wonder creeping into his voice.

The brunette nodded. Her brown irises were cloudy; she seemed to be having trouble focusing. "Yeah..." Her affirmative became another moan as Dave plunged his fingers even deeper into her.

The vampire wasn't entirely sure what happened during the next few moments; he had these vague sensations of pulling Mickie down onto the bed, of stripping her robe off, of unwrapping the blanket until it covered them both. The next thing he remembered with any clarity was lying on top of her, his body wedged between her legs, the tip of his erection touching her. Mickie lay beneath him, her hands stretched out on either side of her head, her hair a golden-brown cloud on the pillow. Dave wanted more than anything to be inside her right now, but he forced himself to take a moment, to stare into Mickie's eyes. There was uncertainty in them still, maybe even a little doubt--but it was almost eclipsed by the _need_, the _desire_ that he could feel burning through her skin. Taking a deep breath, Dave grabbed onto Mickie's legs, using them for leverage as he thrust into her.

He was not prepared for the sensations that engulfed him--after all, this was the first time he had ever, as a vampire, made love to a woman who was human. He didn't know how to describe it--it was as though he had somehow become a part of her, one of the blood cells speeding through her veins, one of the nerves receiving sensation from her skin. He could feel everything that she was feeling: _her_ pleasure, _her _pain. Her heart was pounding, louder and louder, until he almost felt as though he was inside the vessel itself. He was inside her, not just physically, but emotionally as well, and for a second, he almost thought that he could glimpse himself through her eyes, could see his massive frame positioned above hers.

Dave slid his hands up her thighs, gripping her ass as he pushed deeper into her. Mickie's gasps became moans as his rhythm increased, her arms snaking around his body, her fingernails digging into his back. The vampire wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the bed a little as he continued his ceaseless thrusts, burying his face in the crook of her neck. The combined sensations--Mickie's pleasure as well as his own--was almost too much for him to bear; he didn't know how much longer he could hold out. He could feel the sensation building up inside of both of them, rising and gaining momentum, like a bubble ready to burst...

It burst, and Dave came harder than he ever had in his life, his hoarse cries almost drowned out by Mickie's screams as she reached her climax as well. They fell back onto the bed, still wrapped in each other's arms, too enslaved by the feeling to do anything more than hold each other. Eventually, Dave lifted his head, staring into Mickie's eyes. Perspiration beaded her forehead, her hair clung to her skin in damp curls. Dave pushed the stray tendrils back, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. "That was..._unbelievable_..." he whispered, still trying to catch his breath.

"I could feel you," Mickie's voice, dazed and barely audible, floated up into his ears. The vampire brought his head up, gazing down at her. The brunette was staring at a space beyond him in the ceiling above them, her lips barely moving as she spoke. She slowly disentangled one of her arms from around him, touching her forehead. "Here." Her eyes moved, locked onto his. "It was like...I was inside your head. I could feel--" She, like him, seemed to be having trouble breathing. "--what you were feeling, what it felt like for you."

Mickie turned her head to the side, burying her face partially in the pillow. Her lips were trembling. "This doesn't make any sense." She sounded like she was on the verge of tears again. "I don't _understand _this. I mean, I just _fucked a vampire_!" She shook her head, covering her face with her hands. Her voice, when she spoke again, was muffled. "I shouldn't trust you, I shouldn't have anything to _do_ with you; I don't understand _any_ of this--"

"Hey, hey!" Dave took ahold of Mickie's hands, gently prying them back from her face, entwining his fingers through hers. He stared into her eyes, bright and wet with tears and so very very vulnerable. The vampire raised her hands to his lips, kissing her fingers. "I don't understand this any more than you do," he admitted after a long moment. "And it scares the hell out of me--because all I can think about is you. All I _want_...is you. But I'll leave...if it's what _you_ want." He pressed her hands to his mouth. "What do _you _want?"

There was a long pause, then: "_I want you to stay_."

Mickie swallowed hard, and Dave felt her fingers tighten around his. "I want you to hold me," the brunette whispered. "_Hold me, please_,"

And so he did.


	10. Chapter 10: All Over Again

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! Sorry about the delay with this one; I meant to have it posted yesterday, but I got caught up in other stuff. Hopefully, you'll like this one. Enjoy! Peace!**

**Thank you to **Hailey Egan, Esha Napoleon, Animal Luvr 4 Life, nikki1335, Nastygrl25, wolfdemon22, Girl on Fire, **and **basicHBKnomics **for reviewing! Love yas!

* * *

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Chapter 9: All Over Again

Dawn was coming. The night sky overhead was still dark, but down at the edges of the horizon line, the impenetrable blackness was already lightening to gray. In a little while, the first faint sounds of activity would emanate from the streets below, as the city gradually woke back up, but for now, everything was quiet, still safely ensconced in the hush of pre-dawn stillness.

On the roof top of the apartment building adjacent to Mickie's, a figure moved. He was barely visible, a shadow amongst shadows--a feat that could be attributed to his all-black apparel. With his average height and lean build, he was often perceived as one of the team's weaker members--an assumption which usually proved to be a fatal mistake. Years of hunting vampires had molded his body into a knot of tough, sinewy muscle, and whatever he lacked in physical strength--he made up for in sheer insanity.

The figure pulled off his night vision goggles, followed shortly thereafter by his black watch cap. His long hair, pulled back into a ponytail, was colored in a variety of unnatural shades--blue, red, purple--and the eyes that shot a scrutinizing glance in the direction of Mickie's closed curtains were a brilliant green.

Jeff sighed, cracking his neck back and forth and biting back a yawn. After yet another sleepless night camped out on this unforgiving rooftop, his cot back at the base was starting to seem luxurious by comparison. True, he had spent evenings in far more uncomfortable locales, but during those times, he'd usually been doing stuff--stalking vamps, wiring explosives--tasks that were far more intriguing and exciting than the one he was carrying out right now.

When John had first assigned him to tail Mickie James, Jeff's first thought was wondering what he had done to earn himself the crap job. They had just returned from Los Angeles, had barely even settled in--and already, they were back on the trail of that unholy bitch Melina, who they had been chasing for as long as Jeff had been the part of the team.

Jeff wanted in on that action--the daredevil nature that was wired into his DNA _craved_ it--but instead, he had been relegated to surveillance duty...all because the boss still hadn't forgiven himself for Rob's death. To a certain extent, Jeff sympathized with him--Rob had been a hell of a guy, a hell of a Hunter, and his murder had hit them all hard. But in the end, dead was dead, and all the surveillance in the world wasn't going to bring him back...or change what was happening to his little sister.

But because John was the leader, and because what he said invariably went, Jeff had sucked up his indignation and impatience, and did what he was told. For someone who lived off of adrenaline, those weeks of forced vigilance had nearly driven him crazy--particularly when Mickie had started hanging out at that abandoned construction site night after night, not doing anything; just sitting there and smoking.

He'd started to think that he was wasting his time--and then, tonight, everything had changed in a big way when Melina's boy-toy, Dave, had made an unexpected appearance. Jeff had tensed, one hand resting lightly on the gun at his hip, his emerald irises taking in the scene. He, like the rest of the team, was under orders not to kill the big man--but Jeff was prepared to fire a few silver bullets into some non-vital areas should the need arise.

Those same eyes had grown wide when Dave kissed her--and he'd nearly bitten off the tip of his tongue in shock when Mickie's response had been not to shoot him...but to kiss him back.

Then the rain had come and he had panicked, struggling to stow his electronic equipment before the water could damage it. By the time he had everything safely packed away, he had lost them in the downpour. Jeff had backtracked to the apartment, but by then, Mickie's curtains were already drawn, affording him no glance into whatever was taking place within its walls. And though he had tried to keep a close watch on the building's entrance, he had yet to see the vampire emerge from the building.

If he was even in there at all.

The young man cast his gaze toward the eastern sky. There was no way Dave was inside that building--not with dawn this imminent. Melina's paramour was a cautious sort; the only place he would be at this hour was back at his lair...which meant that at some point during the night, Jeff had lost him.

Jeff let his breath out in another frustrated sigh. He had been _this close_ to getting taken off surveillance duty, having glimpsed the one individual guaranteed to put him back in the midst of the action--and he had lost him in the fucking rain. The young man smacked himself in the forehead for good measure, cursing under his breath.

His Bluetooth earpiece squawked, startling him. The jarring sound was followed soon after by the cool smoky tone of his lovely Maria. "So...how'd you sleep?"

Even though he knew she couldn't see it, Jeff still grinned sardonically. "Sleep? What's that?" He looked back toward Mickie's apartment window. Was that a flicker of movement he saw, as though the curtain had been pulled back an inch and then dropped back into place? "Between the roof and the pouring rain, I wasn't getting a whole lot of _sleep_, angel." Jeff stared hard, but the motion--if it had even existed in the first place--never repeated itself. "Besides...you know that Boss Man would kill me if he caught me napping on duty."

Maria laughed, the sound of it a silken purr. "That he would...which would be unfortunate." The flirtatious edge abruptly left her voice, and for a moment, she was all business. "Anything to report?"

Jeff started to reply that _yes_, he _did_ have something to report--when he suddenly hesitated, a faint sliver of unease prickling his stomach.

Jeff's loyalty to his team would always be first and foremost--it was this unspoken trust that bound them all together and kept them alive. But if there was something he trusted even more than his team, it was his instincts--and right now, his instincts were telling him that silence might be the better course.

Namely, for the fact that John, despite all his talent as a leader and a Hunter, had always been less than objective when it came to Mickie James.

Jeff didn't blame him; he knew that John took responsibility for what had befallen Mickie. In a sense, all of them were like that; they all shared the hard tempering of the soul that comes from experience--as well as a sense of guilt, the unspoken "Why me?..." that comes from surviving.

They all had stories, catastrophic ordeals that had shaped them, brought them to this point, put them on this particular path in life. For Jeff, his had occurred down in Cameron, North Carolina, when his fiancee had been gang-raped and dismembered by a pack of biker vampires. She had been five months pregnant--the bloodsuckers had ripped the fetus from her body while she was still alive. Jeff had eventually tracked them to their hideout, and armed only with a sawn-off shotgun and an arsenal of homemade bombs, had taken them all on in which he intended to be a suicide mission.

John and his team had found him at sunrise, barely alive, covered with blood and ash--and _smiling_.

Grief makes monsters of us all.

But while Jeff sympathized with John's point of view, it didn't change the fact that Mickie was different from the average survivor; that she was..._changing_. And Jeff often wondered when his boss was going to accept the fact that, despite all his denials, Rob's baby sister would one day become the thing they all hunted.

Right now, Dave was their only link to Melina--if they ever hoped to track her down, they needed him alive. But if John found out that Mickie had been making out with a _vampire_...his personal feelings might outweigh any common sense, and there was a chance he could jeopardize the mission by going after Dave.

And if he actually succeeded in killing the vampire boy-toy, then Melina would disappear like smoke on the wind. The female vampire was like a ghost; this was the closest they'd gotten to her in _four years_--and Jeff did not relish the thought of spending another four chasing after that thundercunt. He couldn't risk it; not when they were so close.

John would understand. He might be pissed when he eventually found out--but he would ultimately understand.

Jeff touched the earpiece with one finger. "Nothing new here."

Maria's throaty murmur sent a pleasurable tingle through him. "Then come back home..._lover_."

The young man felt a smile touch his lips. "Yes, _ma'am_!" His earpiece went silent, and Jeff rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders a few times to work out the stiffness, shooting one last glance in the direction of Mickie's apartment.

There was something about this whole situation, this potential connection between Mickie James and Dave Batista that worried him. Jeff didn't know quite how to describe it--it was almost like a sense of impending doom, like something was gradually taking shape before him...something bigger than all of them.

It could be nothing...or it could be everything.

* * *

Dave lay beside Mickie, her back pressed against his chest, his arm wrapped protectively around her body. All of a sudden, his eyes flew open, and he sat up, a frantic gasp escaping his throat. The room was still dark--and yet he could feel the dawn coming, the impending sunrise pressing down on him like a nearly palpable weight.

If he didn't leave, if he didn't get out of here _right now_--there was a strong possibility that he wouldn't even make it back to the penthouse before the sun emerged.

The vampire flew out of bed, dashing down the hall to the bathroom. His clothes, although a little stiff, had dried sufficiently, and he threw them on, racing back down the corridor toward the front door.

As he passed by the bedroom, however, Dave paused, his attention captured by the sleeping figure of Mickie. All his commotion hadn't woken her; her breathing remained deep and even. Her back was to him, her golden-brown hair glowing against her pale skin. Even in the midst of his haste, his almost-primal urge to flee, Dave was still compelled to linger, to _stay with her_.

_I wish, more than anything, that I could stay here with you_...the vampire thought miserably to himself. _But I can't..._

_ If I stay here, I'll die..._

Trying to ignore the beast screaming inside his head, roaring at him to _get out_, Dave walked over to the bed, bending down and pressing his face to the crook of her neck. "I can't stay," he murmured into her hair. "I have to go; I can't stay--" His voice broke, and slowly, reluctantly, he straightened up, pulling away from Mickie.

As he did, he spied a pencil and a pad of paper on the bedside table. Without thinking, Dave grabbed both, scribbling down a note on the top sheet. He tore it off, folded it twice, and then carefully tucked it into the curve of Mickie's outstretched hand. The vampire stared at her for a second longer, reaching out to tuck back a lock of hair that had fallen across her face, before he was finally able to tear his gaze away, leaving the bedroom and exiting the apartment.

He had never run so fast in his life--and even then, he felt like he was moving too slow. Luckily for him, the streets were still deserted. When he arrived at the apartment complex, he didn't even bother with the elevator, but settled for the stairway instead, leaping effortlessly up landing by landing. Bursting out onto the fourteenth floor hallway, he sprinted down to 1417, wrenching the door open, vaulting inside, and slamming it shut behind him.

No sooner had he done so than the locking mechanism engaged, bolting the door shut. Dave let out whatever breath he still possessed in a long sigh of relief, slumping back against the door. He had cut it close--far too close this time--and there was a good chance he would not be so lucky the next.

Dave leaned his head back, his eyes drifting shut. The shock of being ripped violently from his blissful repose with Mickie had sent a bolt of adrenaline racing through his bloodstream, injecting him with a kind of energetic exhaustion. Right now, all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep until the following night...

"Where have you _been_?"

Dave's eyes opened at the sound of Melina's voice, shrill and hysterical. The female vampire stormed down the narrow corridor toward him, her expression frantic and furious at the same time.

Melina halted right in front of him, jabbing him in the chest with one manicured fingernail. "You _bastard_--I've been worried _sick_!" she cried. "Do you have _any idea_ how _long_ I've been waiting for you? I didn't know where you were, I thought something had happened to you--"

Dave stared dully back at her, his lover's voice grating on his ears like the annoying whine of a gnat. He was exhausted, buzzed on adrenaline, numb in the absence of Mickie. With effort, he tried to conjure up her face, her voice, the feeling of her skin beneath his hands--but found that he couldn't.

Not with this shrieking harpy standing in front of him.

Melina was still talking: "--I almost sent Miz and Mor out to look for you--" Her words ended in a surprised squeak as Dave abruptly shoved her aside, moving down toward the main area.

The female vampire stood there for a moment or two, too dumbstruck by this sudden rejection to do anything more complex than blink. Eventually, though, she regained her voice, striding furiously after him. "Where are you going?" Melina demanded. She received no answer in return.

Dave entered the bedroom, moving toward the bathroom, and Melina followed after him, her spike heels sinking into the thick carpeting. "Don't you walk away from me--"

"I'm taking a shower," Dave interrupted brusquely, slamming the bathroom door in her face. After a second or two, he locked it--not that it would have deterred Melina, but it made him feel better. With effort, he stripped off his clothes, discarding them carelessly on the floor. Stepping into the enormous walk-in shower, he paused for a moment, pressing his hands to his face, taking one last opportunity to breath in the scent of Mickie that still lingered on his skin.

That done, he turned on the water, twisting the knob up until the deluge that poured down on him was practically scalding. The heat surrounded him, engulfed him, consumed him--like he had been consumed making love to Mickie. Dave stood there for a long time, one hand pressed to the tile wall for support, his massive frame motionless as the hot spray beat down on him.

Finally, as the water temperature began to turn lukewarm, then cold, Dave twisted the knob back, shutting it off. Grabbing a thick towel off a nearby rack, he dried himself off, wrapping it around his waist. Reaching for the door handle, he paused, as clouds of steam wafted by. He didn't want to be here, even now, in the midst of all this luxury.

More than anything, he wanted to be back in that dingy little apartment, lying next to Mickie on her cramped twin bed, with his arms wrapped tight around her. To kiss her lips, caress her skin; to be inside her and hear her moan with ecstasy.

The memory of their lovemaking took hold of the vampire, the feeling of it so intense that he started to tremble. With a quick shake of his head, he pushed the memory to the back of his mind, grabbing the handle and yanking the door open.

The subtle drop in room temperature caused his skin to momentarily break out in goosebumps, and the sight that greeted him made the heat inside him subside even more. Melina sat on the edge of the bed, facing him, arms crossed over her chest, her expression fixed in a sulky pout.

Dave stared back at her without speaking. He wondered what about this felt so strange--and then he realized that it was the absence of anything at all. For the first time, he felt nothing when he gazed at Melina--nothing...except perhaps irritation.

The vampire averted his gaze, moving around the room to the other side of the bed. "Don't look at me like that,"

"You've changed." Melina's tone was just as petulant as her face. "You never used to be like this--not to me." Dave didn't answer; only peeled back the covers, and tossing the towel aside, climbed into bed.

Melina twisted her body around, crawling across the coverlet toward him. "It's not just tonight--you've been like this for weeks," she added accusingly. Reaching out, she touched his cheek. "You're hiding something from me--"

With a low growl, Dave swatted her hand away. "What if I am?" he snapped. Melina's eyes widened and she skittered back, her expression filled not so much with fear as with..._disbelief._ The vampire continued. "So what? Huh?" He fixed his lover with a glare. "In case you've forgotten--I'm not the only one in this relationship with secrets."

Turning over onto his side, he pulled the covers up over him, shutting her out. His eyes drifted closed, thoughts of Mickie James floating, unbidden, through his consciousness.

And then he was gone, lost in a place where not even Melina could find him.

* * *

Mickie's eyes opened a crack, adjusting rapidly to the light. The temperature of the room--stifling hot during the warmer months--surrounded her, pressing against her...but for once, the brunette didn't feel smothered by it. If anything, the heat reminded her of what it had felt like with _him_.

With _Dave._

Micke stirred a little as her body gradually returned to wakefulness, wondering what it was about this morning that felt so different. It took her a few moments to arrive at the answer. This was probably one of the first mornings in a while where she hadn't woken up in the aftermath of a heroin session--and inexplicably, she felt no craving for it...that--or anything else. In fact, for the first time, she felt...not _happy_, exactly, but..._serene, at peace _somehow.

It was as though that one nightwith Dave...had somehow purged the unclean parts of her being--the shame, the fear, the self-loathing, the unholy addictions. She could still feel them, hovering at the edges of her mind, preparing to seep back in and reclaim her, but for now, they had been held at bay. Right now, she felt...not exactly whole...but solid, more substantial--to the point where she could almost believe that she was going to be all right.

Mickie shifted her body around a little more, but she already knew that Dave was gone; had known from the first moment she had woken up and hadn't felt his arms around her. Her hand closed around a small scrap of folded paper, and she started a little in surprise. The brunette opened her eyes wider, raising her hand to her face, staring with bewilderment at the note tucked into her palm. Slowly, with numb fingers still heavy from sleep, she unfolded it, peering at the words on its surface.

_Mickie,_

_I have to go, but I want to see you again. Meet me tonight where we met last night._

_I miss you._

_Dave_

There was a tiny heart drawn next to his name.

For one glorious second, Mickie felt everything inside her--her fear, her mistrust, her doubts--melt away, obliterated in that single instant of euphoria. The fact that Dave was a vampire, that she was a survivor, that she had sworn to kill any bloodsuckers that she encountered--none of that mattered anymore.

All that mattered was Dave wanted to see her again.

"How touching."

Randy's amused tone cut across her thoughts, dousing the fire inside her like a bucket of icy water. Mickie quickly sat up, clutching the bed covers to her chest, a startled gasp escaping her throat as she saw the Viper's Pit owner sitting in the corner of the bedroom.

Randy crossed one ankle over the other knee, tilting his head to the side. There was a smile on his lips, but it was belied by the icy calculation in his blue eyes. "Who would have thought that a big guy like that could have such a tender heart?"

Mickie swallowed hard, sick irrational fear climbing up her throat. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice a cracked whisper.

Randy shrugged. "I stopped by to return this." He extended his hand; clutched in it, barrel pointed toward the ceiling, was her gun. Mickie's gaze lingered briefly on the weapon, before sliding back up to meet Randy's. The Viper's Pit owner continued. "A little reminder, Mick--next time you have a rendezvous with a vamp...try not to leave your gun behind; silver bullets are expensive." Rising to his feet, he walked slowly over to her dresser, dropping the gun on top. The weapon hit the wood with a loud CLUNK and Mickie flinched.

Randy turned around, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the door frame. The smile was back, though it was rapidly progressing toward a smirk. "So...how was he?"

Mickie stared sullenly back at him, the words flowing out of her mouth before she could think to curb them: "What's wrong, Randy? _Jealous_?"

For just a moment, just an instant, she thought she saw a spark of..._something_...in Randy's eyes. But in the next, it was gone, leaving his azure irises just as lifeless as before. The Viper's Pit owner laughed, a chilling sound that had no humor in it. "Me? What for? It's not like he saw anything I haven't seen a hundred times already."

Mickie flinched, the force of the slur rocking her like a slap. Randy went on, his smile starting to fade. "I have to wonder though...when this all started. You know--this sudden shift in attitude toward vamps? I mean, a month ago, you were ready to shoot the first one you saw. Now, all of a sudden--you're inviting them into your bed--

"I don't expect you to understand," Mickie shot back, shooting Randy a glare. Her frown, however, couldn't withstand the emptiness of Randy's apathy, and she quickly looked away. Her voice, when she spoke again, was softer, more hesitant: "I don't know how to explain it, but Dave...he's different--"

"_Dave_, is it?" The unctuousness of Randy's tone made her want to throw up. The Viper's Pit owner chuckled softly. "Mick, Mick, Mick...when you've been around vamps for as I has--the one thing you realize is that they're all the same."

Randy moved forward; his footfalls against the bare wood floor sounded hollow and ominous. "See...the thing about vamps is that no matter how human they pretend to be--they've all got a beast inside them. And the only thing that beast cares about--" Randy paused, stopping at the side of the bed, looming over her. With one hand, he reached out, his finger tracing the line of her jugular. Mickie shuddered, pulling away from his touch.

The Viper's Pit owner leaned down even further, until his breath caressed her ear. "So no matter how _charming_ or _nice_ or _different_ this guy Dave may seem to you--in the end, you're nothing but a hot lunch to him. Because in the end...the thirst always wins." He paused for a second, adding deliberate emphasis to his next words: "But then again...you already know all about that..._don't you_?"

Mickie kept her gaze averted. With one hand, she reached out and grabbed a handful of the coverlet, balling it up in her fist. Randy straightened up, and she heard him move back to his original position. However, he wasn't finished. "Besides...this thing...whatever it is...with this _Dave_...it's not going to last." Another pause. "He's gonna abandon you."

Mickie's head snapped to the side, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "You don't know him--" she began, but Randy waved his hand, cutting her off.

"I know him better than you do, angel," the Viper's Pit owner replied. The corner of his mouth curved up in a sneer. "I see his kind all the time. Guy like that...he's got a vampire girlfriend back at home--probably gorgeous, a knockout. But after a while, he gets tired of screwing her...so he goes out looking for something different."

Mickie looked away, but doing so couldn't block out the sound of Randy's voice, so smug and all-knowing. "He finds a girl, a human play-thing, something to take the edge off. But it never lasts--first sign of Hunters and he's gone." The Viper's Pit owner leaned down, his deep tone dropping to a whisper. "_Gone_. He and his bloodsucking bitch. They move on to a new town, he moves on to a new girl, and it starts all over again."

Mickie drew in her breath slowly. Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, trying to prevent them from trickling down her cheeks. None of it was lost on Randy; she heard a mocking tone creep into his voice. "What's the matter, Mick? Did I hit a nerve? Oh, yeah, because this one is _different_." He carved imaginary quotation marks in the air with his fingers. "What, you think that when the Hunters show up, he's gonna take you with him? That you and him and his girlfriend are gonna live together in one happy little fucked-up family?" The Viper's Pit owner shook his head. "It doesn't work like that, Mick. Once he leaves--and he will--that's it. He's gone--and you're alone again."

Randy bent down even more until his mouth pressed against her ear. "And when that happens..._what's going to happen to you_?"

With a strangled cry, Mickie jerked away, raising her hand up to slap him. Before her hand could make contact, however, she stopped, her palm hovering only a few inches from Randy's face. The Viper's Pit owner looked from it to her, his expression full of that cruel amusement. Mickie let her hand drop back down to her side, her lips trembling. "Why..." She hesitated, began again, unable to keep her voice from breaking. "Why are you..._doing_...this?"

"Why?" Randy echoed mockingly. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a smile; it was like looking at a grinning skull. "Mick, all I'm doing is reminding you who your _real_ friends are."

He paused, touching her cheek with his finger, trailing it down along her neck, ending at the spot just between her breasts. Mickie felt a wave of repulsion surge through her, as though a slug had just oozed its slimy trail across her skin. Randy studied her, slowly pushed a strand of hair back from her face. "You should stop by tonight. Later--after the bar closes." His tone was casual, but there was an undercurrent of steel in it that told her it was not a suggestion--but an _order_.

Mickie closed her eyes, trying her hardest not to cry. She felt Randy's breath on her face again, and couldn't keep back a moan of disgust as the tip of his tongue touched the corner of her mouth.

Instead of getting angry, however, the Viper's Pit owner merely laughed quietly. "See you later, Mick." He pulled back, walking out of the bedroom. It wasn't until the front door closed behind him and his footsteps faded out of hearing range that Mickie felt his stifling presence dissipate.

Then, and only then, did she open her eyes.

The brunette sat there for several minutes, motionless, running Randy's words over and over again in her mind--

_He finds a girl...a human play-thing...something to take the edge off..._

_ It never lasts...he moves onto a new town...a new girl...and it starts all over again..._

She became aware that she was clutching something, and looking down, saw that she was still holding Dave's note protectively in her hand. Mickie looked down at it, her brown eyes sweeping over the hastily scribbled words, the tiny heart next to Dave's name...

With a low sob, she crumpled the scrap of paper up in her hand, wadding it into a tiny ball, and hurling it toward a dust-filled corner. Covering her scarred face with both hands, the brunette began to weep.


	11. Chapter 11: Without You

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! Apologies on the delay; I took a week-and-a-half hiatus from FF because I had monstrous amounts of schoolwork to finish. I actually was going to put off writing this chapter for another week 'cause I still have stuff to finish, but it was either post a new chapter or go completely insane, and I opted to hold onto at least part of my sanity. I do want to apologize in advance for how dark this chapter is--this was one of those where I go to the end, read it back, and was like: "Where the hell did my mind GO to write this?" But I hope that you will enjoy it nonetheless. Peace!**

**Thank you to **Esha Napoleon, basicHBKnomics, wolfdemon22, nikki1335, Nastygrl25, Girl on Fire, Syco's Path, **and **Ashleymassarophan1 **for reviewing the last chapter! Love yas!

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Chapter 10: Without You

Dave shoved his hands into his pockets, walking as briskly as he dared down the dimly lit avenue. His vampiric nature made him capable of moving a lot faster--and more than once, he was sorely tempted to do so--but at this hour, the streets were still occupied, providing more than a few witnesses to any potential superhuman displays of speed. As a vampire, Dave's survival depended on his ability to blend in--not even his desire to see Mickie James could make him forget that.

When he had woken up just before dusk this evening, the big man wondered what this strange emotion was that had inexplicably taken hold of him. It was as though time--something that had ceased to matter long ago--could not move fast enough for him. It had taken Dave a while to identify this newfound sensation as _anticipation_, accompanied by an almost overwhelming feeling of _excitement_.

It was that particular emotion that stunned him more than any other, because it had been a _long_ time since he had been this excited about _anything_. The kind of life that he led--unnatural and debauched as it was--has assumed its own kind of routine...and living at the outskirts of human existence, watching them change, while he remained the same, had made him believe that nothing would ever surprise him again.

But all that had changed a few weeks ago, when Ms. James had stormed into the Viper's Pit...and into his life. She had awoken something in him, something he wasn't even aware had been lying dormant. The night he had met her had been the night things had changed, and Dave somehow knew already that he didn't want them to change back.

This relationship between them was..._complicated_...to say the least. Despite the intimacy they had shared the previous night, he knew that Mickie still didn't fully trust him, just as he couldn't completely trust her. But if last night had proved anything, it was that, behind all that mistrust, there was a connection between them; an emotional connection that they were only just beginning to explore.

It was as though...regardless of all the twists and turns their respective lives had taken, they had always been destined to be with one another.

In the midst of his euphoria, however, Dave couldn't ignore the harsh reality that by pursuing this relationship, he was putting both of them in serious danger. It was perilous for him to form attachments of any kind to the mortal world--particularly emotional ones. He couldn't afford to love _anything_--because the day would come, the day would _always_ come, when he would have to leave it all behind without a word and never return.

And if there was something holding him to this world, something that he couldn't bear to let go...then it would only make it that much easier for Hunters to track him down and end his immortal existence.

However, the prospect of a pack of vampire slayers chopping his head off wasn't the only threat that he faced--there was also the question of Melina...and what she would do if she ever found out about Mickie. His sire might be decades, even centuries older than he was, but there was a part of her that was immature, almost childlike, in its cruelty.

Melina would forever be beautiful, but she was also selfish, easily jealous, possessive to the point of excess, and _incredibly_ spiteful when she chose to be--and her contempt toward the human race didn't help much in assuaging these negative traits. So far, Dave had managed to keep her from discovering the _real_ reason behind his change in attitude--but he knew that it was a fluke of good fortune, aided only by his reticent nature and his lover's inability to read his thoughts.

Melina was already suspicious, and when something bothered her, she didn't often let it go--chances were good that she would eventually learn the truth about him and Mickie James. And if that happened, the female vampire would most likely go after Mickie--both to punish him and to satisfy her own vindictive nature.

And if _that _happened...then Dave would have to make a choice. A choice between the woman who had made him what he was...and a woman that he still barely knew.

Dave didn't subscribe to any code of vampire ethics; for the past decade, he had followed his instincts, adapting them to his own mode of survival. But he had absorbed enough of his species' culture in the last ten years to know that it was generally frowned upon to favor a mortal over your sire; to protect a human life at the expense of the being who had made you.

If the day ever came when he would be forced to defend Mickie against Melina--then there would be a steep price to pay in the end. But for some reason, the vampire wasn't really worried about the cost...because in the depths of his heart, he knew that he had already made his decision.

_If Mickie's in trouble..._Dave thought to himself. _I'll protect her...no matter what..._

And in that moment, he knew that he meant it.

The empty building loomed above him, plastic sheets flapping quietly in the faint breeze. Nudging one of them aside, Dave eased his massive frame through the doorway, walking into the darkened space.

Almost immediately, memories took hold of him, nearly knocking him over with the force of their intensity: the taste of Mickie's lips, the warmth of her small body crushed against his, the rain pouring through the roof, soaking them both...

A split second later, however, instinct kicked back in and Dave unconsciously tensed, looking around, gripped by an irrational hunch that something was _not right_. The past night's rain had brought the temperature down several degrees, adding an uncommon chill to the evening air, but it was more than just that. It was quiet, just as it had been before, but now it was a different kind of quiet, almost like--

"She's not here."

Dave jumped at the sound of Randy's deep voice. The vampire whirled around, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as the Viper's Pit owner materialized out of the shadows. Randy had his hands shoved in his pockets, an amused smile on his lips. Just another guy out on a nightly stroll--only the locale and the total lack of _anything_ in his eyes kept that illusion from achieving full believability.

For a second, Dave was tempted to ask _Who?_... but stopped himself. From what he had gathered in his few encounters with Randy, he sensed that the Viper's Pit owner was a man who liked to play games, who looked on manipulation as his sole form of amusement. He had known about Dave's fascination with Mickie even before Dave had--the odds were good that he knew _exactly_ what had transpired last night between the vampire and the survivor.

Instead, the big man tilted his chin up a little bit, peering suspiciously at the blue-eyed man. He kept his arms at his sides, his fingers twitching, already trying to curl up into fists. "Where is she?" Dave demanded, his tone harsher than he would have liked.

Randy shrugged, completely unfazed by the vampire's annoyance. "Mickie? Who knows? In case you haven't noticed, she's kind of a ghost." The bar owner took a step toward him, glancing down at the ground. When he looked back up again, the humor--if there had been any to begin with--was gone. "All I know is...she's not here--and she's not coming. Not now...probably never again."

Dave stared speechlessly at him, feeling hot rage bubble up inside. Randy's words might have been vague--but his tone, his demeanor, everything about him...had more or less confirmed that _he_ was the reason for Mickie's absence.

The vampire growled low in his throat, moving toward the bar owner. "_What did you say to her_--"

"_Me_?" Randy held up his hands in mock innocence, an insolent smile flickering around the corners of his mouth. "What makes you think that _I _had anything to do with it?" Dave didn't answer; only stared sullenly back at him. Randy's smile grew wider. "Oh. _ Oh...I get it_. She told you about me...didn't she?"

"She didn't have to," Dave's voice was low, only the faintest rumble of anger in his tone betraying his true feelings. "I saw it inside her head...saw the things you make her do--"

At this, the Viper's Pit owner threw back his head, roaring with laughter. "_M-make _her?" Randy managed to gasp between chuckles, wiping tears of humor from his eyes. "I don't _make _Mickie do _anything_..." He paused for a moment, his mirth giving way to a flash of icy malice. "...anything, that is, that she doesn't _want_ to do."

Dave had no idea what kind of expression flashed across his face at this statement, but it must have been entertaining to Randy, because his smirk returned. "What?" the blue-eyed man asked, his tone faintly challenging. "You honestly thought that you were plowing virgin territory last night?" Randy shook his head derisively. "You know, for a vamp, you really are naive. Do you even know anything about her--other than what you stuck your dick into?"

The Viper's Pit owner moved forward a little, bringing him almost close enough to sling a friendly arm around the vampire's shoulders. He didn't, though, and for good reason--if he had, Dave probably would have broken it. "Let me enlighten you a little about our Ms. James," Randy began. "Before all this--before a bunch of vamps messed up her face--she used to be a stripper."

The bar owner fastened his azure irises on the big man, reiterating those last two words with deliberate emphasis. "_A stripper_. Meaning that she danced around a pole and shook her tits while guys shoved singles into her g-string. Before that--" Another shrug. "Well, Mick's always been a little sketchy with the details, but from what I've gathered...she was no angel."

Randy took another step toward Dave, lowering his deep voice to just above a whisper. "And I don't know if you noticed the state of her arms while you were fucking her last night--but your little Mickie's a junkie, and only getting worse. If the thirst doesn't take her...the heroin will."

Dave couldn't breathe; he felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach. He could feel each revelation, each unsavory detail about Mickie's life, pressing against his brain, filling his skull to the point of bursting. It had been meant to hurt him--every word, every _syllable_--and as he stared mutely at Randy, the big man knew that his initial assumption had been correct: the Viper's Pit owner _was _dangerous.

Randy cocked his head to the side, looking almost mildly surprised by Dave's evident chagrin. "Not so appealing now, is she?" the blue-eyed man remarked, derision creeping into his voice. He shook his head. "I told you before, man--Mickie's trouble. She's _poison_. She's messed-up--and the last thing she needs right now is _you_--"

"But she needs _you_--that's what you're saying?" Dave snapped, his tone just as scornful. "What have you ever done for her--"

"_I saved her life_," the Viper's Pit owner interrupted coldly. "Which is more than she can say about you." For the first time, Dave thought he glimpsed a flash of genuine emotion in Randy, as the blue-eyed man stared back at him with what could only be contempt.

"I don't even know why you have it out for me," Randy continued, his tone warming slightly--but with irritation, not compassion. He spread his tattooed arms out wide. "All I've done--all I've _ever_ done--is give Mickie what she wants. She wants money, a place to stay; I give her that. She wants H; I give her that, too. She wants to disappear...I _let _her."

"But for a price," Dave interjected, his voice controlled, but just barely. "It's not like you're a regular Good-fucking-Samaritan--"

"Of _course_ for a price!" Randy cut him off. The Viper's Pit owner rolled his eyes, as though the vampire was slow. "Nothing in this life is free--even Mickie understands _that_! But if she's willing to pay the price..." Randy smiled, his eyes like blue pools of emptiness. "...well, then...who am _I _to deny her?"

"By making her dependent on you?" Dave whispered. He was trembling with pent-up fury by now; he was astounded that he hadn't snapped. "By making her whore herself out to you? By making her feel _worthless_--"

Randy jammed a finger in his ear, wiggling it around. "I'm sorry--were you _judging_ me just now?" the bar owner remarked sarcastically. "_You_--a guy who has to drink _blood_ to survive?"

Randy cracked his neck back and forth, slowly, deliberately, never once taking his gaze from the pissed-off vampire in front of him. He had yet to show anything resembling fear. "I'm not a monster, _Dave_--I'm a realist. We both know that the _one_ thing Mickie wants more than _anything_ is to take back the last three years--to erase them like they never existed." The Viper's Pit owner shrugged. "I can't do that--I'm not a miracle worker--but I _can_ help her forget. See, what I give her is temporary peace of mind--I let her forget, just for a little while, that she's totally fucked."

The blue-eyed man paused, eying the vampire. "Can you do that?" The scorn had returned to his tone. "Oh, no, of course not--you want to _save_ her." Randy snorted derisively. "You think you're some kind of white knight, you've practically got 'HERO' stamped across your forehead--what you don't seem to realize is that _Mickie can't be saved_." The bar owner jammed his hands back into his pockets. "You're wasting your time, dude. You're better off doing what I do--sitting back and watching her self-destruct."

Randy tilted his head to one side, regarding the big man, and Dave was reminded yet again of the movements of a snake. "You know as well as I do that one day, Mickie's going to turn--and all you're ever going to do is remind her of that fact. Every time she looks at you, she's only ever going to see her destiny--and that's the _last_ thing Mickie James wants to visualize. Me..." The blue-eyed man indicated himself. "I may not be perfect...but at least I'm still human."

Randy moved forward, leaning closer until his mouth was almost next to Dave's ear. "And let's be honest--the only reason you hate me is because _I had her first_."

With those last four words, Dave felt his fragile self-control finally snap. Roaring, he lunged at Randy, swinging his fist up, already anticipating the crack and crunch of bone as his knuckles met the other man's jaw...

Randy dodged the blow, ducking around behind him, and Dave's features--twisted with rage--went a little slack in shock. He wouldn't have expected anyone human to be able to avoid the punch, and he was still too caught up in the momentum of the motion to react.

He never saw the chain; only heard the almost-musical clink of metal links, followed by the constricting pressure of it wrapped around his throat. Dave's eyes bulged as he gasped for breath. To someone, some_thing_, like him, a metal chain should have been no big deal, but _this_..._this burned, _as though the links themselves were red-hot.

Randy's voice was in his ear again, his hot breath pulsing against his ear. "Hurts, doesn't it?" The Viper's Pit owner let out a soft humorless chuckle. "This isn't pure silver--that would slice your head right off your neck--but there's enough of it mixed into the steel that it'll eat right through to your trachea if I pull hard enough."

To illustrate his point, he gave the chain a hard tug, and Dave let out a strangled gasp. His entire throat felt like it was on fire--he could almost feel the flames licking the inner contours of his gullet. He reached up blindly, trying to pull the chain away from his skin, but quickly snatched his hand away as the metal links scorched his fingertips. He could smell a faint aroma, like something burning, and realized that it was his own flesh.

The vampire fell to his knees, choking. In spite of all his strength, all his brute force--he had been rendered powerless by an ordinary piece of metal. Randy followed him down, never once letting up on the pressure. His mouth was still pressed against Dave's ear. "Now listen up, big guy. I've got nothing against _you_ personally--but what I _don't_ need is you waltzing in, playing hero, and screwing up things that are really none your goddamn business. You're welcome in my place anytime...but stay the _fuck_ away from Mickie James. Understand?"

Dave didn't answer; merely continued to gag. Randy immediately pulled back on the chain, increasing the pressure even more. "_Understand_?" the Viper's Pit owner repeated emphatically, practically spitting the word out. This time, the vampire nodded, bobbing his head up and down as far as the links of chain would allow. He not longer cared about his dignity--all he wanted was for the agony to stop.

Randy's face relaxed, easing back into a smirk. His azure irises never changed, never shifted from anything other than flat and emotionless. "Good." He let go of the chain, pulling it back to him and wrapping it around his open hand. Dave collapsed gratefully to the cement floor, one hand stealing up to massage his neck. The chain had seared so deeply into his flesh that he could feel the outlines of the individual links etched into his flesh.

Randy's gaze shifted from the chain to him, as though remembering his presence. "See you around, dude." was all he said before walking off, his shoes squeaking softly against the concrete. Even the sound of his footfalls seemed mocking.

Dave waited a long time, until Randy's footsteps faded into silence, until he was absolutely sure that the blue-eyed man wasn't returning. Then, and only then, did he pull himself to his knees, still clutching his burned throat, Randy's words ringing in his ears.

_What you don't seem to realize is that Mickie can't be saved..._

For the first time, Dave began to think that he might be right.

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Mickie stood outside Randy's apartment, her body perfectly motionless. All of her normal outer apparel was in place--long-sleeved coat, scarf wrapped double around her neck, cadet hat pulled down over her eyes. Her hand was raised, her fingers curled in a fist, ready to deliver that hesitant rap that would eliminate the one remaining barrier between her and her tormentor.

It was an action that she had completed numerous times before--one which she had been doing almost nightly for nearly three years. But for some reason, on this night, Mickie remained frozen, unable to go through with it.

The brunette squeezed her eyes closed in pain, letting her breath out in one long shuddering sigh. _I have to do this..._she told herself, for not the first time that day. _I HAVE to. Regardless of what happened between me and Dave last night...it doesn't change anything. It won't stop what's happening to me--and it won't fix me._

_ Besides..._Mickie thought miserably. _There's no way that I could ever leave Randy. I need him...and he knows that I need him--_

_**No, you don't.**_

The brunette jumped as a new voice boomed in her head. The sound of it was so unexpected that she couldn't even begin to think where it was coming from--all she knew what that it most certainly did _not_ belong to her.

_**You don't need him--**_

_Yes, I do..._

_**You're better than him--**_

_No, I'm not..._

_**You think you're worthless because that's what he wants you to think...but you're not.**_

To this, Mickie had no response. She had no option but to continue listening as whatever it was--her conscience, her soul, aliens from outer space--continued to wax philosophical inside her head.

_**You mean something...to me. More than anyone has...in a long time. Mickie, please, let me help you--**_

The brunette spun around, a startled gasp escaping her throat. She stepped forward cautiously, peering down the stairwell, her eyes probing the pools of darkness near the entrance to the alley. At first, all she saw was nothing--but wait, there, just beyond the door frame, that patch of shadow darker than shadow, was that--

Mickie felt her throat swell shut with emotion. "_Dave_?" the brunette whispered. "_Is that you_?"

For an instant, she thought she saw the shadow move--and then with a creak of hinges, the door to Randy's apartment swung open, spilling sickly yellow light out onto the small landing. Mickie's head snapped back, her heart compressing into a small hard ball at the sight of the Viper's Pit owner.

"Look who it is." Randy's expression never wavered, though his gaze shifted slightly from her to the darkened stairwell. "Something interesting down there?" the blue-eyed man remarked mildly.

Even though her heart was pounding in her chest, Mickie still managed to lift her chin up, meeting Randy's gaze without flinching. "I thought there was," she answered, her tone just as neutral. "But it turned out to be nothing."

"Hm..." Randy murmured noncommittally. His azure irises moved back to rest on her, sweeping up and down her body. A smile touched the corners of his mouth. "I knew you'd show up sooner or later."

For a moment, Mickie remained rooted there, while the strange voice--_Dave's_ voice--wailed in her head.

_**Mickie, don't--**_

With a tremendous mental effort, the brunette pushed the voice out, forced it from her head until all that remained was the hum of her own thoughts--and the ceaseless thud of her heartbeat. "Shut up," Mickie whispered, although whether she was talking to Randy or Dave, she wasn't sure. "Just...shut up."

Her gaze snapped upward, her brown eyes burning with such ferocity that Randy almost took a step back. "Let's just get this over with," the brunette snarled. Pushing past him, she stormed into the apartment.

The Viper's Pit owner watched her furious progress with what could have only been faint amusement, before following her in. "Well, aren't _we_ feisty tonight--" The door slammed shut behind him.

At the foot of the stairs, in the deepest pool of shadow, Dave bowed his head, closing his eyes in pain. He still couldn't banish that final image of Mickie from his mind, the way she had gazed down into the darkness. The look on her face--it had been like that of a death row inmate walking his final mile.

The vampire's broad shoulders sagged as he withdrew even further back into the darkness. The burns on his throat had healed--but somehow, even the memory of that intense anguish didn't sting so much as the pain of his broken heart.

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Melina looked up at the sound of the door opening, her features reverting back to their original expression of disinterest as her lover trudged into the room. "You're home early," the female vampire remarked, her voice still holding a trace of its petulance from the previous night.

Dave didn't answer. Instead, he moved over to Melina, sinking down next to her on the overstuffed white sofa. A wine glass of fresh blood sat on the coffee table in front of her; the big man picked it up, rising it to his lips and draining its contents.

Melina watched him consume the liquid without speaking, arching one eyebrow in way of response. As Dave set the glass carefully back on the polished surface, she commented: "Something you'd like to share with the rest of the class...or is _that_ off-limits, too?"

Dave leaned back against the padded surface of the sofa, closing his eyes and sighing softly. "Nothing really..." At this, Melina rolled her eyes in exasperation, and was about to turn away when her lover added: "Except that...you were right."

The female vampire froze a little, then gradually turned back to face Dave, her beautiful face lighting up with considerably more interest now. "_Really_?" Melina drawled, her tone dripping with the kind of self-superiority that would have angered Dave on any other occasion. Now, however, the big man felt nothing--nothing even the faintest flicker of desire or the tiniest pang of annoyance.

He felt nothing--except emptiness.

Melina was still talking. "--I usually am...but about what in particular this time?"

Dave raised his eyebrows, looking at his sire sideways out of the corner of his eye. "About you and me, and what we are--we _are_ a better species than all of them."

The female vampire inched closer, reaching out with one manicured hand to caress his bicep. "Go on," she replied, her voice soft and breathy.

The big man let his head fall back, his eyelids drifting shut. "Them--they have all these _rules_, all these fucked-up codes that they live by. Us--our needs are simple." Dave raised his hand, ticking items off with his thumb and fingers. "Hunt. Feed. Fuck. What could be simpler than that?"

Melina giggled, a low sensuous sound that seemed almost like a purr. Moving even closer, she climbed onto his lap, straddling his legs with both of hers. Her hands were on his chest, slowly trailing downward. "I think..." Melina murmured, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She leaned in closer, her tongue darting out to caress his earlobe. "...that you're finally getting the idea, baby."

Dave turned his head, his lips grazing hers in the process. "Maybe my eyes are open for the first time," the vampire whispered.

They kissed hungrily, their tongues meeting, tangling, teasing one another's. Melina's hands slid lower, and Dave groaned loudly as she reached his groin, sliding her fingers into his pants and taking hold of him.

Melina's lips were on his neck now; he could feel her smile against his skin. Without saying a word, she pulled back, rising to her feet and gazing down at him. She extended her hand, and without hesitation, Dave accepted it, allowing his lover to pull him to his feet, tugging him in the direction of the bedroom.

As she did, her hair briefly fell back from her neck, and Dave thought he spotted two darkly-bruised puncture wounds on her neck, right under her jaw. They were just a little too widely spaced to be his--and they hadn't had time to heal...which meant that they had been administered sometime shortly before he had walked in the door.

Melina tossed her head at that moment, her black-and-blond locks covering the wounds once again, and Dave let the notion slip from his mind. Right now, all he wanted to think about was fucking Melina, about how good it would feel inside her, thrusting again and again, harder and harder, until the orgasm blasted every coherent thought from his mind.

Maybe filling her would make him forget how empty he felt.

From the darkness at the far end of the room, two sets of glowing red eyes watched him intently.

* * *

Mickie stared at the loaded syringe in her hand.

The brunette shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, reaching down with her free hand to adjust her torn clothing. Randy had been rougher than usual tonight--she knew for certain that he had left bruises. Normally, the Viper's Pit owner regarded their meetings with the same clinical detachment that she did--but tonight...tonight had been different.

It was almost like...he was gloating about something, as though he had triumphed and was now reveling in the wake of his success. Mickie didn't know what could have sparked such a sense of glee in Randy--but then again, she _had _come back to him. Maybe _that_ was more than enough reason to celebrate.

And truth be told, Mickie wouldn't even have minded the physicality--if a vampire hadn't reminded her last night that sex could be wonderful.

For the last three years, sex for Mickie had been a means to an end, nothing more--she had forgotten how overwhelming and powerful it could be. What she and Dave had shared last night...they hadn't had sex, they had _made love_. Dave...he had been tender and sweet and _he had wanted her_--and somehow, that was even more overpowering than the orgasm that had pounded through her body.

Maybe that was why, when Randy was inside her tonight, she had had to bite back the urge to scream, to push him off and tell him to go to hell. Maybe that was why she had comprehended for the first time that _he was raping her, that she was allowing him to rape her_, _when she had sworn that she would never--not after what had happened--_

The brunette broke off the thought, glancing down once again at the syringe. What did it matter now? Randy had gotten what he wanted, and she had, for the time being, received what she needed. The only one who hadn't gotten any satisfaction was Dave--but he was gone now, too, wasn't he?

Randy was right; she _was _poison. She lost everyone that she was close to--that was her curse. For a few brief hours, she had allowed herself to get close to a man--no, not a man, a fucking _vamp_--it seemed only right that she should lose him, too.

Slowly, with fingers that were beyond numb, Mickie lifted the syringe up, holding it against her vein, feeling the fleeting stab of pain as the needle pierced her skin. She tilted her face up toward the ceiling, the pain giving way to memories of intense pleasure.

_Dave's hands on her body, his mouth on her skin, his tongue lapping at her, inside her--the powerful waves of sensation that swept over her as she climaxed--_

She pushed down the plunger.


	12. Chapter 12: Regret Nothing

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! No, really, I'm not kidding; I think it's been forever since I last updated. I spent a lot of time rolling this chapter around in my mind, which is part of the reason it took so long to get it written. Also, I got impatient and chopped off about half of it, but don't worry-what I took out will show up in the next chapter. All I can say is: sorry it took so long, and I hope you enjoy this new outing.**

**Thank you to **Animal Luvr 4 Life, Nastygrl25, Esha Napoleon, nikki1335, Girl on Fire, wolfdemon22, **and **Ashleymassarophan1 **for reviewing the last chapter! Love yas!

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Chapter 11: Regret Nothing

Jeff felt the cool light brush of fingertips against his forehead. Instead of reacting, however, he continued to feign sleep, his eyes still closed, biting back a smile. The fingers withdrew briefly, then made contact again. The caress was gentle, tender...and thus could only belong to one person.

He felt the touch a third time, and swiftly shot his hand up, his fingers locking around the wrist of its owner. Jeff's eyelids lifted, his green eyes locking onto a pair of irises very similar in hue to his own. The rainbow-haired man's mouth twitched, curving into a smile. "Hey there, angel," he murmured.

Maria propped her chin up on her hand, gazing down at him with loving amusement. "Hey yourself," she whispered. A lock of red hair had escaped her ponytail, bouncing errantly against her cheek. Jeff reached up and tucked it back behind her ear, his fingertips lingering against her skin. A soft contented sound escaped Maria's throat, and her emerald eyes drifted closed for a second or two.

For not the first time, Jeff found himself marveling at how lucky he was to have found a girl like Maria. Beautiful, brilliant, fearless-she could have had any man she wanted; it seemed inconceivable that she had somehow settled for his broken-down daredevil ass.

But then, again, he routinely saw a facet of Maria that most men would never witness. Like the merciless light in her eyes when she interrogated a vamp; the damage she could inflict on her captive with a serrated hunting knife. Or the ragged scar running the length of her back, twisting along her spine like an ivy vine-a little "souvenir" from a coked-up bloodsucker down in Tampa.

Maria might _look_ sweet and innocent, but there was a part of her that was harder and more unyielding than diamond-the average man would have run screaming if he caught even a glimpse of what she was capable of.

Jeff reluctantly tore his gaze from his beloved's face, his green irises making a habitual check of their surroundings. He was lying on his cot, where he had collapsed with a satisfied groan only a few hours before. A white privacy curtain, much like the one used in hospital emergency rooms, had been drawn around the row of beds, cordoning them off from the rest of the main room.

The rainbow-haired man swung his focus back to Maria. "Didn't Boss Man put you on surveillance duty?"

The redhead shrugged. "Yeah...but it's noon, sunny, and the juice to the fence is on full-if a vamp manages to make it past all _that_, then he _deserves_ to finds us. Besides-" Maria hesitated, leaning down a little. Even in the harsh glow of the bare bulbs, she looked nothing short of angelic. "-it's _so_ much more fun..watching you sleep."

Jeff chuckled. "Anyone else-that would just sound creepy. But _you,_ angel-" He lowered his voice, slowly trailing his knuckles down Maria's velvety soft cheek. "-_you_ make it sound so damn sexy."

Maria giggled, the husky flirtatious sound of it more like a purr. She leaned down, her lips parted softly, the loose tress of hair once more rebelliously slipping free and falling against her beautiful face. Jeff pushed himself up on his elbows, meeting her halfway.

Their mouths were just about to meet when the privacy curtain was abruptly and violently ripped back, the rings rattling against the rod with a harsh clatter of metal on metal. Both of them looked up sharply at the sudden interruption, freezing when they beheld the figure standing before them.

John stared impassively down at the couple for several long seconds, his muscular frame unmoving, his azure eyes betraying nothing. He flicked that flinty blue stare toward Maria, and the redhead involuntarily gulped. John's lips moved, spitting out a short, terse directive: "_Back to work_."

Maria didn't even pause to offer a meek "Sorry, Boss"; she immediately scrambled to her feet, practically sprinting back to her computers. John's eyes snapped back to Jeff, and the rainbow-haired man felt something inside him clench. Jeff had never been easily intimidated by any stretch of the imagination, but there was something about his leader that seemed to radiate old-school badass, like Clint Eastwood or Steve McQueen. No matter what atrocities he faced, his face never seemed to lose that expression of implacable intimidation, and whenever his focus was on Jeff, the rainbow-haired man always felt like he was back in fourth grade, standing meekly in front of the principal.

John scrutinized him for a few more moments before his stolid countenance relaxed almost imperceptibly. "Get your gear together," the lead Hunter intoned. His voice was flat, leaving no room for negotiation. "I want you out at Mickie's place before sunset tonight."

The exasperated groan escaped Jeff's lips before he could even think to bite it back. "Aw, man, _come on_!" he complained. The rainbow-haired man sagged back onto the cot, staring up at the ceiling as he talked. "It's been the same old shit for _weeks_-I'm going out of my mind! Couldn't me and Beth switch places for once-"

Over in the arsenal, Beth lifted her head upon hearing her name. She had a powerful work light aimed over the table, and was in the process of attaching fresh heads to her arrows. The heads were coated in silver, and barbed, so they couldn't be easily removed. The blond woman looked from one man to the other, raising her eyebrows questioningly, but said nothing.

"I need Beth on tracking detail," John interrupted bluntly, as though this explained everything. His tone was almost infuriatingly patient. His gaze never wavered from Jeff's. "That's an _order_..._Hardy_." At the sound of his last name, Jeff felt his internal temperature plummet. _That_ was the final warning; any further insubordination, and this situation could potentially denigrate into a fight.

John knew this as well, because his lips pressed together in a thin satisfied line. Without adding anything further, he turned smartly on his heel to walk away. His movements were precise, military-like.

Jeff knew that he was already treading deep water-the use of his surname had proved it-but the rainbow-haired man couldn't help himself. His relationship with the lead Hunter had always been a few degrees removed from contentious...and the one issue they forever seemed to clash over was _authority_. John demanded absolute acquiescence to it, while Jeff perpetually rebelled against it.

Most of the time, the two of them were able to stow their respective differences, and focus on their mutual task of slaying bloodsuckers. But every once in a while, there came a time where Jeff was unable to stop himself from going too far; where he just had to keep poking the hornet's nest until he got stung...

The rainbow-haired man rolled his eyes. "This is bullshit," he muttered under his breath.

The words were barely audible, but that didn't matter; John had always seemed to possess the supersensitive hearing of a bat. The blue-eyed man stopped, _tensed_, but did not turn around. From across the room at her bank of computers, Maria sucked in a shocked breath. Beth's expression didn't change, but she was already starting to push back her stool in anticipation.

"_What did you say_?" John's voice was the epitome of perfect neutrality, but Jeff could still hear the threat in it; hovering at the edges of his tone like the rumble of distant thunder.

"You heard me," The rainbow-haired man struggled to his feet, wincing as tinges of discomfort ricocheted up and down his body-the price of sleeping on a rooftop and a rigid sleeping apparatus for two months straight. Pushing aside the curtain, he gestured at the bulletin board next to Maria's knot of electronics. Even after two months, John's initial covert shots of Dave with Mickie were still the only ones up there.

Jeff jabbed at the grainy image of the big man with his index finger. "_That's_ what we're here for!" he exclaimed. "That 'roid freak, and his horse-humping bitch! We've been after those two for _years_; we should be looking for _them_-not..._babysitting_!"

At this, John finally turned around. His azure irises met Jeff's emerald ones unflinchingly. There was a long moment of silence as the two men stared at each other, and when the lead Hunter eventually spoke, he chose his words carefully, almost thoughtfully, lest emotion bleed out into his voice. "As long as Melina's out there," he began. "Mickie's not safe-"

"Neither are a lot of other poor bastards," Jeff shot back hotly. "But I don't see you rushing out to stand guard outside _their_ windows." The rainbow-haired man took a step forward, then another, moving slowly toward his leader. He held out his hands almost imploringly. "We can't save everyone. _You_ know it, _I _know it-we all do." He hesitated for a moment. "So why Mickie, huh? What makes her so goddamn special?"

Even as he said it, though, Jeff already knew the answer.

Because Mickie was Rob's sister.

Because Rob had been one of them.

Because John had made a promise to Rob before he'd had the misfortune to die; one which his personal code of honor would never allow him to break, no matter what the circumstances.

But what emerged from his leader's mouth was none of these anticipated responses.

"_Because this shouldn't have happened to her_!" John shouted. His deep voice was practically a roar, echoing off the cement walls. Everyone jumped at the sound; even Jeff moved back a step. The blue-eyed man let his breath out in a ragged sigh, reaching up to massage his temples with one hand. For an instant, a _heartbeat_, his stony facade cracked, revealing a glimpse of an inner soul that was just as terrified and tortured as those countless unwitting innocents they had rescued from the vamps.

John's voice was a hoarse growl, laced with barely contained emotion. "We live in the shadows, we sacrifice everything that we are, to keep this..._war_...from spilling out into the streets, so those poor bastards won't _ever_ have to know about the things that go bump in the night."

He lifted his head, his blue eyes staring not at Jeff, but at an unseen point in space. "And that's the one thing Rob did for her-the only thing he _could_ do for her." Passion filled his voice, raising it in volume. "No matter how bad it got out there, he always made _damn_ sure that this life, this war, this _hell_ we inhabit never _touched _her!"

John abruptly fell silent, and for several agonizing seconds, no one spoke.

"But it _did_, man," Jeff finally replied, his soft Southern accent breaking the quiet. His tone was surprisingly gentle...but only at first. "It _did_...and nothing you do is gonna change that."

The rainbow-haired man shot a look around the room before bringing his focus back to rest on the lead Hunter. Like John's had a few minutes ago, his voice was also beginning to grow in volume. "Boss, when are you going to accept the fact that no matter _how many_ of us you send out to watch her place, that girl is still gonna turn...and if _she_ doesn't finish the job herself, then it's gonna be up to you or me to go out there and finish it for her!"

Jeff moved closer until he was standing almost directly in front of John. He lowered his voice, although doing so was unnecessary; the sound of it still carried across the room. "You think I _enjoy_ watching her destroy herself? Seeing her shoot that junk into her veins? Seeing that _slimeball_ fuck her in the ass every night? And knowing that I can't do anything to stop it unless some bloodsucker happens to look at her the wrong way?"

The rainbow-haired man shook his head. "Don't you get it? Mick's already in hell, man! She's got demons after her that are a helluva lot worse than the ones we hunt. So if some vamp _were_ to rip her heart out..." Jeff fastened his gaze unwaveringly on his leader's. "...if you ask me, they'd be doing her a favor."

He never saw John raise his fist; only felt the other man's knuckles crash into his jaw. Jeff staggered backward, reeling from the blow. His shins collided with the edge of his cot, and he lost his balance completely, sending him and the sleeping apparatus tumbling to the floor.

John strode toward him relentlessly. Without breaking motion, he grabbed a handful of Jeff's black t-shirt, simultaneously yanking him up and raising his other hand for a second punch.

Maria screamed, the sound of it jarringly musical. Beth sprang to her feet, knocking the stool over in her haste. "John, _stop_!" she commanded, but her tone was nervous, unsure.

The lead Hunter froze, but did not lower his clenched fist. Jeff shook his head briskly, trying to knock the fog of dizziness from his skull. In doing so, he looked up, inadvertently locking eyes with John...and then froze as the first faint tendrils of fear wormed their way into his gut.

It wasn't that there was nothing in John's gaze...but rather, that there was _everything_. Every emotion, every feeling, every irrational thought or care that he had ever forced back or swallowed because _he_ was the leader...was now simmering in his azure irises. His features were quivering, as though his skull was struggling to contain the contents stored within it.

All of that emotion pouring out-it was almost _too_ much to bear, like standing too close to an open flame. Staring into John's eyes was a little like looking into Hell itself.

"_Stop it_!" Beth demanded. Her voice was a little more confident this time, a little more assertive.

For a second or two, John gave no indication that he had even heard her. Then, without so much as the slightest twinge in his facial expression, he opened his hand, releasing Jeff. The rainbow-haired man hit the floor ungracefully, his head connecting painfully with the concrete.

John stared down at him without pity. His lips moved-the only part of him that did, in fact-spitting out a terse directive: "I don't want to have this discussion again."

With that, the lead Hunter spun around, moving away from Jeff, striding to the far side of the main area. Shoving a black drape aside, he disappeared into an adjacent room. The drape dropped back down, fluttering faintly as a door slammed shut behind it...followed by the sound of a deadbolt slamming into place.

The remaining trio didn't even get a chance to exhale in relief before gunshots rang out. All three clapped their hands over their ears; Maria actually dived under her desk, whimpering at the sound-she had never liked guns. The noise was deafening, and seemed to go on forever...but then, just as abruptly as it had started, it stopped.

Jeff waited until the echoes had died away into silence before cautiously unplugging his ears. Another moment or two elapsed before he finally worked up the courage to climb back to his feet. The rainbow-haired man stood there for several long seconds, breath tearing shakily in and out of his lungs, trying to slow his heartbeat back down to a normal rate.

He cast a concerned glance over his shoulder at the two women. Beth still had her hands over her ears; the expression in her pale blue irises was a kind of anxious calm. Behind her, Maria had tentatively emerged from her retreat beneath the desk, peeking up over its edge, the tips of her fingers and her wide eyes the only parts of her that were visible.

All three of them exchanged a look; a silent probing stare that said nothing and everything at the same time. Then, gradually, they returned to their original tasks. Maria hesitantly pulled her lithe frame out from under the desk, taking a seat on her rolling chair and tapping nervously and rapidly at one of her numerous keyboards. Beth righted her stool, sitting as well and picking up the arrow she had been working on.

Jeff remained where he was for another minute or so, staring at the black curtain in the far corner. It hung motionless, not a fold stirring, as though to belie the mayhem that had no doubt occurred behind it. Gradually, though, he tore his gaze away with a heavy sigh, looking around instead for his backpack, which he had discarded before crashing on his cot.

No one said anything. There was no point in saying anything.

* * *

_"Fuck_!"

John spat out the epithet in a harsh whisper, his face twisting in pain. The gunshots had deafened him, blanketing his hearing in a deadening numbness, punctuated only by a dull ringing. Firing a large-caliber weapon in an enclosed space-not even _one_, but _two_...he would be lucky if he walked out of here without permanent aural damage. The air reeked of cordite and smoke; he could taste it on his tongue. It tasted foul, metallic. About fifty feet away from him, the opposite wall was scored with deep cracks and holes where the bullets had dug into its cement surface; it looked almost like someone had taken a jackhammer to it.

In some ways, he was just like that wall; solid, unyielding...but irrevocably damaged. The scars on his body were nothing compared to the ones etched on his soul. This pain inside him...it was like a wounded animal, one whose claws and cries of agony could be temporarily stilled-but never silenced.

The only way to quiet it was to hunt, to _kill_, to exact from the vamps what they had stolen from him. But it was never enough; inevitably, the hurt came back. No matter how many of those bloodsuckers he sent to Hell, it _kept_..._coming...back_.

John slowly raised his arms, staring dazedly at the guns in his hands as though seeing them for the first time. The lead Hunter's weapons of choice were twin Desert Eagle .44s, modified to accommodate a slightly bigger caliber if desired. With the right ammunition, he could blow a hole in just about anything. Words had been etched along the barrel of each gun, a solely aesthetic choice...and the closest thing to a personal mantra that he possessed.

_REGRET NOTHING..._was engraved on one; _FEAR LESS_...was engraved on the other.

_Regret nothing...Fear less..._

Existing without fear...that was easy. After all, fear was nothing more than an unnecessary emotion that could be banished with enough willpower. But regret? _That_ was not so easy to exile from one's mind.

When you killed a vampire, their body burned away, leaving behind only ash to mark that they had existed. For him, and probably for every Hunter, his residue was regret, the only thing remaining to remind him that he was still alive.

That he was still alive...while others were dead. Dead, because he hadn't been strong enough or quick enough or smart enough in that one crucial second to save their lives. And there was no point in spouting philosophical platitudes like "You can't save everyone" because _that wouldn't bring them back_. His mistakes, his errors in judgment, would remain forever etched in his mind, replaying over and over again every time he closed his eyes.

Like how he had arrived in time to blow that bloodsucker's head off...but too late to stop her from tearing Rob's throat out.

Or how he'd finally managed to track down Mickie...only too late to save her face-or her soul.

He had failed her. He had failed them both.

_Regret nothing...Fear less..._

John sank to his knees, the guns slipping from his limp grip and clattering on the floor. He covered his face with his hands; his head felt like it was about to explode from the pressure building up inside of it. All he could hear was Rob's voice, his last request, the memory of it undiminished by time...

_If anything happens...to me...take care of my sister..._

It was a routine remark; one that Rob had uttered every time they went out on a hunt. And what had _he_ said? Why, his usual refrain, of course, never once guessing that Rob wasn't going to make it back that night; that John's casual oath would actually mean something this time...

_I will, man...I promise..._

John leaned down until his forehead touched the cool concrete of the floor. "Why couldn't I save you?" he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion."Why couldn't I _save_ you?"

As always, his plea went unanswered.


	13. Chapter 13: Breaking Point

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I feel like it's been forever since I've put anything out; I hit another one of my bad patches. I actually wrote this while I was on vacation; hope y'all enjoy it. Now, on to update my other stories before my other readers track me down and start kicking my ass, lol. Peace!**

**Thank you to **Animal Luvr 4 Life, wolfdemon22, nikki1335, Girl on Fire, **and** Esha Napoleon **for reviewing the last chapter! Love yas!**

* * *

Chapter 12: Breaking Point

A month had gone by. Or maybe it was two. Mickie wasn't sure; she was starting to lose track.

All the days seemed the same to her now, blurring together, stretching out into a repetitious, ceaseless nightmare. Time was slipping away from her, slowly but relentlessly, like water dripping from a faucet. Eventually, it would run out for her altogether...one way or another.

But somehow, Mickie couldn't bring herself to care...because _she_ was slipping away, too. She was eroding away bit by bit, but even the threat of her eventual self-destruction wasn't enough to spark even the faintest flicker of concern within her.

Ever since Dave had left her, there had been no reason to care.

Mickie had never thought about hell in terms of burning pits and guys with red horns and pitchforks. To her, it had always been more like a state of mind...namely, the total absence of all hope.

She had spent the last three years drifting through the cold lonely darkness of despair, without the option of salvation, without the _possibility_ of survival. She had finally come to accept her damnation as an inevitability...and then a savior had abruptly emerged from the least likely of sources-in the form of a _bloodsucker_, of all things.

During the one brief night they had spent together, he had made her think that there was still some good lurking beneath her scarred exterior; had made her believe that there was something in her worth saving. He had made her _feel_. More than that...he had made her _hope_.

But hope can be a dangerous thing...especially if you've lived without it for so long. For creatures that dwell in darkness, even the slightest sliver of light can be fatal-something which Mickie realized all too well once Dave was gone. It was as though...he had taken a piece of her when he left; some vital part of her that she could barely function without.

She felt empty, vacant, like a hollowed-out pumpkin. There was a hole inside her now; a big gnawing void that refused to be filled. And not even heroin could banish Dave's face from her memory; if anything, the drug only sharpened it, intensifying his features, the deep timbre of his voice, the pleasurable sensations of their night together, until the euphoria of being high was almost as agonizing as the pang of withdrawal.

She couldn't bear this. She didn't _want_ to bear this. And more and more, she found herself turning the gun over and over in her hands, studying its contours, wondering why she was bothering to _wait_ to end her suffering; wondering why she didn't just blow her brains out _now_ and save herself some time.

Mickie remembered thinking once, in a rare moment of philosophical acceptance, that she had survived Hell; therefore, she could survive anything. But _this..._this _pain..._

She would rather face oblivion than feel this any longer.

Randy's impatient cough slammed into her ears like a gunshot, jolting her back to the present with a jarring abruptness. "Any chance of finishing this up before daybreak?"

The brunette jumped, her head snapping up. For a moment, she was confused, disoriented, before familiarity clamped back down over her senses, reverting her surroundings back to the Viper's Pit owner's apartment. Mickie felt a flicker of relief, but it was fleeting, more like a ghost than the real thing. This place might be better than the shadowy miasma of her thoughts...but it was merely the lesser of two evils, one torture taking the place of another.

Mickie turned her head slightly to the side, looking toward Randy without actually looking _at_ him. "Yeah..." she replied dully. Her body felt heavy, unresponsive, as though all her vital fluids had been converted to lead. She blinked once, twice-slowly, like a cow, and feeling as placidly stupid as one. "I need a drink."

She could almost hear the creak of Randy's eyebrows lifting upward questioningly. "Something on your mind?" the Viper's Pit owner remarked, his deep voice full of mild interest...and a barely concealed perverse enjoyment.

Mickie felt something invert faintly inside her, like a stone flipping over in her stomach. She supposed it was the very last of whatever dignity or indignation she still possessed, welling up from deep within her, trying to make itself heard. But the brunette ignored the sensation. She was too far gone. She was lost; utterly, totally lost, and no amount of resistance or righteous anger would ever change that.

Better, then, to stop fighting altogether. Better, then, to let the emptiness and the numbness wash over her and feel nothing once again. To forget about everything: about Dave, about hope...

About _love_.

Mickie lowered her lids, gazing at the scarred wooden floorboards through her lashes. "Nothing...nothing that _you_ would understand," she whispered, her tone too defeated to be a retort.

Randy said nothing at this; merely shrugged and ambled toward the tiny kitchen. Bending down, he opened one of the warped cabinet doors, retrieving a bottle of whiskey and setting it on the countertop in front of her. The Viper's Pit owner backed up a step, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest and leaning against the stove. His emotionless blue gaze was still fixed on her. "You want a glass with that?" he asked, his voice holding only the barest trace of courtesy.

Mickie ignored him. Snatching the bottle up, she yanked the cork out with her teeth, spat it out, and took a huge swig from the glass container.

Almost immediately, she felt her stomach wrench painfully, as the bitter alcohol collided with her insides with the force of an atomic bomb. The world around her began to spin, like a carousel whirling out of control. Hot sour bile climbed up her throat; she could actually feel it creeping into her nasal passages.

Mickie coughed violently, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, involuntary tears stinging her eyes. She bent over the counter, trying not to choke on the disgusting substance filling her esophagus.

Randy chuckled, the sound of it both grating and chilling. "Jesus, James," he remarked mildly, his voice tinged with almost-amusement...as though, somewhere in the pit of nothingness that existed within him, there was a part of him that was getting off on her pain. "Slow down, will ya?" His mouth curled into a smile...but as usual, it never reached his eyes. "When did you become such a lightweight?"

With effort, Mickie managed to tune him out-it was taking every ounce of self-control she possessed not to puke. The brunette leaned down until the tip of her nose touched the counter. Tears dripped from her lashes, plopping onto the scuffed Formica surface. Her head was pounding, her gut was churning, and for an instant, the despair and anguish inside her swirled around her like a storm cloud, surrounding her, deafening her, threatening to consume her entirely-

And then everything went still.

Mickie didn't really know how to describe it; it was like the crisp unemotional sound of a slap inside her head. All she knew was that one moment, she'd been teetering on the brink of insanity, and in the next, reality had reasserted itself. Her head had cleared, her stomach had settled, and the first time, she could see everything, the entire breadth of her existence, this _life_-if you could call it that-through the unobscured lens of logic, without the usual filters of heroin, despair, or self-pity to cloud her judgment.

_**You don't have to take this...**_

A voice was speaking in her head now, and Mickie almost jumped at the sound. It was her own...and yet, at the same time, it _wasn't_. No, this voice was no-nonsense, confident, assertive...just like she, too, had been, before three vamps had stolen her life.

Maybe the person she used to be _hadn't_ died all those years ago. Maybe there was some facet of her old personality, her old strength, that had survived...and now, it was trying to tell her something. The same thing that John had once tried to tell her. The same thing that _Dave_ had tried to tell her.

Something that, deep down, she had known to be true all along.

_**You don't have to take this**_**...**

_Yes, I do..._

_**Shut up. **_The voice interrupted her harshly, cutting across the equivocating whine of her excuses with brutal sharpness. _**You DON'T have to take this.**_

Mickie drew in a breath, the sound of it almost like a strangled gasp. Nothing had changed; the apartment's grimy interior continued to surround her, and she could still sense Randy's unwanted presence a few feet away.

But at the same time, something_ had _changed. Something...within _her_. She could feel the metamorphosis within her soul; a part of herself that was hardening, tempering into something that was more solid than granite, more unyielding than diamond.

The brunette felt a bitter smile curve her lips upward. "You're right," she murmured, her tone too soft to be heard by anyone other than herself. "I don't."

"What was that, Mick?" Randy's voice was calm, but just a little more biting than it had been a second ago. It was as though he, too, could sense the newfound change within her; could sense the situation's control drifting from his grasp.

Mickie didn't answer at first. After several long moments, she straightened up, inch by inch, vertebrae by vertebrae, rising to her full height. When she pulled her hands off the counter, she could see their silhouette faintly outlined on its surface for a instant. The brunette lifted her head, meeting Randy's gaze without flinching.

She was afraid-_that_ could not be banished so easily-but for the first time in three years, the fear no longer controlled her. There were still chains binding her, but for the first time, she felt like she could break them...and even though there would be consequences for breaking them, she felt like she could live with that, because she couldn't live like _this_ any longer.

For a moment, Mickie saw Dave's face, the way the golden light had softened his sharp features, the magnetic pull of his dark eyes as they bore into hers. She heard her own voice in her ears, blurting out that one unexpected query...

_When you said that I was beautiful...did you mean it?_

...and his answer, that single syllable that had more power in it than the feeling of his muscular arms wrapped around her...

_Yes..._

The brunette took a deep breath. "I can't..._do_...this." A pause. "I _won't_." A longer pause. "Not anymore." There was hesitation in her voice, but nothing else; her tone was just as flat and emotionless as Randy's. Without adding anything further, she turned away, heading for the door.

She never heard him move. Despite all her supernaturally enhanced senses, she never heard Randy move...and somehow, that scared her more than anything else that followed.

Mickie had just reached for the door knob when Randy's powerful hand closed around a handful of her hair, yanking her head back brutally, and slamming it equally so into the door. The brunette cried out in pain, hearing the fragile wood crack as her forehead collided with it, seeing her vision melt away into brilliant blobs of color.

Still holding onto her hair, Randy gave another hard tug, throwing her down onto the floor. Staring down at her writhing form for a moment, he kicked her; a single, well-placed blow in the area of her kidneys.

The kick flipped Mickie over onto her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. As she lay there, gasping for breath, trying to fight past the searing agony in her lower abdomen, she felt Randy straddle her body, crouching down over her. He wrapped one of his arms around her neck, forcing her head up and cutting off her limited oxygen supply even more.

Randy's breath washed over her ear, hot and rank. "Mick, Mick, Mick..." She couldn't see his face, and didn't much want to-just hearing that _voice_ was bad enough. "I thought I would never have to do this...but you seem to have forgotten that our little _arrangement_ depends on you doing _what_ I say, _when_ I tell you to do it. No _questions, _no _excuses_...and _no backing out_."

Randy paused, and Mickie heard him lick his lips. "Now...I've _tried _to be fair. I've even tried to treat you decently...which, believe me, is a helluva lot more than a worthless junkie cunt like you deserves." There was ugliness in his voice now, _real_ ugliness, and Mickie thought she could glimpse his true self; the being that lurked behind his handsome facade. It was only a flash...but it was unspeakable.

Randy's tone was little more than a harsh whisper by now. "But you _had_ to go and break the rules...so I'm going to have to punish you. If you want to act like a whore...then I'm gonna fuck you like a whore. Only this time..." Randy stopped, chuckled, the sound of it almost a cackle of anticipation. "...I'm not gonna stop...not matter how much you beg me to."

Mickie could feel blackness pressing at the edges of her mind, but in the haze of her impending unconsciousness, she heard a faint metallic jingle, and knew that Randy must be unbuckling his belt. The sound sent images dancing through her head; snapshots of a night that had changed her forever...

_Hands...pressing her face into the pavement...tearing her clothes...slashing her skin...pushing her legs apart as she lay facedown on the ground..._

_The indescribable agony as they thrust into her...one, then the other...over and over again...until she thought she would pass out from the pain..._

_Fangs...sinking into her neck...taking her blood and leaving something else-some viral part of themselves-behind..._

_And above it all...above her piteous moans and their frenzied grunts...the sound of that bitch laughing..._

_Laughing..._

_Laughing..._

Mickie swallowed hard, shoving the memory away. She could feel panic hovering at the edges of her mind, waiting to swoop in and take control of her, but she forced that aside, too. Instead, she let her hand steal stealthily downward, encountering the gritty texture of the floor and the crumpled fabric folds of her own clothing...until her groping fingertips located a familiar cool metal object.

The gun.

It was the single difference between what had happened three years ago, and now. Back then, she had been totally helpless, totally at the mercy of her tormentors. But _now_...now she had an equalizer in her possession; something which could, possibly, swing at least _some_ of the odds back into her favor.

Mickie felt the sharp claws of hysteria sink into her once again, and bit down on the inside of her cheek until blood filled her mouth. The sharp coppery taste of her own life force cleared her head, slowed everything down, sharpened her environment into stark relief until it was like the black and white panels of a graphic novel.

Her fingers closed around the butt of the gun. She would have to be quick. She would have to be smooth, and above all, she would have to be fearless. In short, she would have to be everything that she was _not_...because she only had one chance to do this.

Mickie took a deep breath...and then, she no longer _thought_. She _moved_.

In truth, she never expected it to actually _work_. Even while caught in the midst of instinctual motion, she was still waiting for the gun to get caught in the holster, or for it to jam when she pulled the trigger, or for Randy to swat it from her hand before she had a chance to aim.

But fate, as she knew from first-hand experience, was a two-faced fickle bitch. After all, it had been _fate_ who had decreed that she would live when she really should have died three years ago. And it had been _fate_ that had compelled her to walk into the Viper's Pit on the exact same night that a bloodsucker named Dave had stopped by.

Maybe there was purpose behind all this meaningless coincidence. Maybe...in spite of all the pain...there was a reason she was still alive. Mickie had never put much stock in destiny before-perhaps it was time that she did.

The gun slid smoothly and easily from the holster. Pressing her knees against the floorboards for leverage, Mickie succeeded in pushing herself up a little, managing to twist her upper body around awkwardly.

Her contortions brought her almost nose-to-nose with the Viper's Pit owner. Mickie could barely see; her golden-brown hair was hanging in her face like a veil, obscuring her vision. However, she thought she saw a look of genuine astonishment pass across Randy's features, and remembered thinking: _That's the first real emotion he's ever shown me..._

Randy had just enough time to sputter: "What the _fuck_-" before Mickie brought the gun up and pulled the trigger.

She had forgotten about the recoil; the force of the shot threw her back onto the floor, the back of her skull connecting painfully with the wooden boards. Through the haze of dizziness that momentarily swam across her field of vision, she saw Randy fly back, almost in slow motion, like someone had attached a cable to the back of his shirt and given it a hard yank. He hit the floor hard; she could feel the impact vibrating back to where she lay.

A minute crawled by. Then two.

Mickie lay on the floor, still locked in a kind of stupor from the preceding events. Her ears were ringing from the din of the gunshot; the only sound she could hear was the frantic thud of her own heartbeat.

_**Get up**_**!**The voice was back, hissing into her ear with icy authority. Mickie tried to obey; tried to will her limbs back into compliance-but it was no use; all communication between her body and her brain seemed to have shut down. She didn't know if Randy was dead, or wounded, or merely stunned...but she had no desire to find out-and the longer she remained in this apartment, the greater the odds she _would_ find out.

_**Get the FUCK up**_**! **Mickie flinched as the voice blasted through her head again, louder and more insistent this time. _**Get out of here before he wakes up**_**! **

Those last four words had the same effect as an ice pick shoved directly into Mickie's central nervous system. Her feet were the first appendages to stir, sliding against the scuffed boards as they struggled to find purchase. Her arms followed suit, one hand still gripping the gun.

She did a weird kind of inverted crawl toward the door, halting when her back collided with the closed barrier. Groping frantically above her, Mickie found the knob and turned it. The door swung open, but only a few inches-she had forgotten about the security chain.

The brunette tugged at the unmoving door anxiously, a distressed moan escaping her throat. She had to get out of here. Any moment now, Randy was going to sit up, like Michael Myers in Halloween, and come after her. Any moment now, she was going to feel his fingers close around her neck, yanking her back into the apartment.

She had to get out of here. _She had to get out of he-_

With a low cracking sound, the chain tore free of the wood, and the door flew open. Mickie scuttled out onto the landing like a crab, losing her footing and rolling into the railing, which shuddered and almost gave way beneath her weight. She half-crawled, half-fell down the stairs; it wasn't until she reached the bottom that she was finally able to climb back up to a standing position.

By the time she reached the mouth of the alley, she was running, faster than she ever had in her life, legs pumping furiously, long hair streaming out behind her. Adrenaline was churning through her veins, and she could feel its effect more acutely than even the strongest hit of heroin.

She had not yet fully grasped what she had done; realization would come later, along with consequences. The only thing that mattered was the wind rushing past her face, the breath tearing in and out of her lungs that held the faint taste of freedom.

She was running away, just as she had done for the last three years...only this time, she didn't feel like a coward.

* * *

Randy lay unmoving on the floor, eyes closed, arms out at nearly right angles on either side of him. With the exception of the blood pooling on the boards, he looked almost like a heavenly being splayed out on the floor; his face seemed unusually serene.

Then, suddenly, the Viper's Pit owner's eyelids snapped open, and the illusion was dispelled. The blue irises that glared out at the world were less like an angel's and more like a demon's; one who had just clawed his way back up from Hell.

Randy's features twitched, and he sucked in his breath with a sharp hiss of pain. Clapping one hand over his arm, he abruptly sat up, his voice emerging as little more than a guttural roar:

"_Fuuuuuuuck_!"

He glanced down at his arm. Blood stained the sleeve of his t-shirt, trickling through his fingers, streaming down his arm. Randy's lip curled, his azure eyes narrowing to small slits. "Fucking bitch," he remarked flatly.

Gingerly, he got up, rising first to one knee, then to his feet. Stumbling slightly, he made his way to the kitchen, snatching a dish towel off the counter and using it to staunch the bleeding. As he did, his eyes lit on the open whiskey bottle. The Viper's Pit owner grabbed it, raising it to his lips and downing a generous swallow of the fiery beverage. Slamming it back down onto the counter, he closed his eyes, drawing a shuddering breath in through his teeth.

Then, and only then, did he allow himself to survey the damage.

The wound wasn't as bad as he'd imagined...but it was worse than he'd hoped. The bullet hadn't exactly hit him, but it had come close enough to gouge a deep gash in his tattooed bicep, which was bleeding copiously. Randy wasn't too concerned about the pain-in the grand scheme of things, pain was inconsequential-but he _was_ pissed about the damage to his artwork. He'd spent a lot of time and money having both arms encased in tattoos, and even if he went to a hospital to have his wound stitched up, it was still going to leave a scar...

Randy knew that he should consider himself lucky; with Mickie's wild aim, the bullet could have just as easily gone in his throat, or his heart, or his _head_. But the Viper's Pit owner's thoughts were not focused on _luck_.

All that _work..._and you couldn't tattoo over scar tissue...

Randy's handsome features trembled with rage, and without warning, he snatched up the whiskey bottle and hurled it into the sink, where it splintered into a thousand silvery shards. Liquid sprayed outward, splattering him, but the Viper's Pit owner gave no notice. "Fucking _bitch_!" he screamed. "Fucking _cunt_!"

Randy backed away from the sink, running one hand over his closely cropped hair. How had this happened? His control over Mickie was absolute; he had her cowed into perfect submission...so what, then, could have possibly triggered such a display of defiance like this? What? _What_?

He'd known, three years ago, when she had finally emerged from her feverish semi-conscious haze and opened her eyes for the first time, that she was damaged; had known from the dull look in her brown irises that there was some part of her that was irrevocably shattered. No will to live, but not enough courage to die-the ideal combination.

The idea had first come to him then; the notion that he could _use_ this somehow, that he could manipulate her despair and her suffering and her emotional trauma, and mold her into something he could dominate, something he could _control_. So he'd set about doing so...and gradually, he succeeded. Of course, there had been some initial resistance from Mickie in the beginning, but once the _changes _in her had started, fear had kicked in...and Randy had never encountered a motivator more exquisitely compelling than _fear_.

No one had _ever_ challenged his authority. Most people never even knew about Mickie, and the few that _did_-namely, Ted and Cody-were in no position to question him. For three years, Mickie had been his slave, his plaything...her agony the sweetest aphrodisiac he had ever tasted.

The only time he had ever felt threatened was when that walking hulk of steroids had appeared on the scene. Imagine, a _vampire_, of all things! But while Randy could admit to a certain..._possessiveness_...where Mickie was concerned, it hadn't been jealousy that had driven him to separate the two of them.

No...it had been the look in Dave's eyes when the Viper's Pit owner had first brought up the subject of Mickie James; a sort of smoldering protectiveness. And even that in itself would have meant nothing...if he hadn't glimpsed the same expression in Mickie's eyes when he mentioned Dave.

They meant something to one another. Whether they were aware of it or not, there was something between them. Something _dangerous_. That kind of mutual attraction...you fought for. You fought tooth and nail if it was ever threatened. Randy might not have any actual emotions of his own, but he understood their power; understood the ordeals people would put themselves through while in the grip of them.

Dave might not be human...but he would fight for Mickie. He would fight for her even if it killed him.

And if _that_ ever occurred...then he would lose Mickie...and there was _no way_ he would _ever_ allow that to happen. Sure, he could always find another girl; another lost soul seeking a savior...but he had already invested so much time and _effort_ into breaking down Mickie.

Besides, if there was one thing that Randy couldn't stand, it was losing... especially to some jacked-up bloodsucker with a hero complex.

Driving them apart had been easy. Dave might have been built like a tank...but beneath that muscular exterior, he was nothing more than a pussy. One taste of a silver chain, and he had gone scurrying back into the shadows with his tail between his legs. As for Mickie...well, Randy had always been able to _coax_ her back into compliance with a few carefully chosen words.

So what had gone wrong? Where had he fucked up?

The answer, when he considered it, was easily apparent. Obviously, he hadn't counted on the strength of Dave's influence on Mickie, even in the wake of his absence...and he hadn't anticipated the lengths that Mickie would go to in an attempt to reestablish that connection.

He had underestimated her. He had underestimated them both. And now...he would make them both pay.

Randy moved toward the bedroom, still holding the towel against his wounded arm, even though the terrycloth was more or less soaked with blood by now. His gaze fell on the open door, on the splintered hole in the frame where the lock used to be, and for a moment, a fresh surge of rage swelled up in him again. But the Viper's Pit owner swallowed his wrath, _forced_ himself to.

_All things in due time..._

Instead, he made his way to the rear of the bedroom, pausing in front of the single window...the same window where, some time ago, he had overheard a conversation between Mickie and Dave and realized for the first time what he was up against. Randy stood there without moving, his face expressionless, his mental gears ticking softly as he considered his options.

Despite her little rebellion earlier, Mickie posed no threat to him. Whether she was aware of it or not, she was still totally dependent on the Viper's Pit owner for survival, and sooner or later, one or both of her..._thirsts_...would send her crawling back to him. It was really only a matter of time and patience-and Randy possessed both.

Dave...now that was a different story. Randy wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do about the big man. If his assumptions were correct, then Dave probably belonged to someone, so he couldn't kill him without pissing _somebody_ off. On the other hand, though, he couldn't very well allow him to continue walking around.

Dave was onto him now, and Randy doubted he would have the element of surprise in any future confrontations between them. If the big man ever got his hands around his neck...well, he didn't much care to think about _that_.

He would think of something. If there was one aspect of his personality that Randy could rely on, it was that, eventually, he _always_ thought of something.

The Viper's Pit owner stared out into the night, his blue eyes taking in the city skyline without seeing it. He took a deep breath, feeling the little flame of hatred within him grow and burn brighter.

Randy had never put much stock in emotions; most of the time, he was glad he didn't have any. To him, they had always seemed like pesky little things that constantly got in the way of cold unshakable logic.

_This_, on the other hand...this fiery rage, this all-consuming loathing directed toward his scarred plaything and the vamp who had stolen her from him..._this, _he could live with.

In fact...he rather liked it.


	14. Chapter 14: Let The Right One In

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I'm going to warn everyone right off the bat; there's a lot of fairly graphic sex in this chapter. I know there's been some fairly steamy scenes already, but I felt compelled to warn because the scenes in this chapter go to kind of a creepy place. So...y'all have warned. **

**This was one of those chapters that took a lot out of me emotionally, but at the same time, I feel like it's actually good (and I don't feel that often about my work). BUT...it's more important to me that y'all enjoy it, and I hope you do. Peace!**

**A/A/N: This title of this chapter and the lyrics used in it are both from the song "Let The Right One Slip In" by Morrissey (all rights, etc. belong to him). It is also, coincidentally, the title of one of the best vampire movies ever made.**

**Thank you to **Animal Luvr 4 Life, Esha Napoleon, nikki1335, Nastygrl25, Girl on Fire, wolfdemon22, **and **basicHBKnomics **for reviewing the last chapter! You are AWESOME and I love you ALL!**

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Chapter 13: Let The Right One In

Mickie dashed into her darkened apartment, nearly tearing the door off the hinges in the process, slamming it closed and throwing her body back against it. For several long moments, she remained there, breath tearing in and out of her lungs in hoarse frantic gasps, before some small modicum of common sense managed to break through the haze of panic surrounding her brain, gently reminding her that her weight alone was not going to provide a sufficient enough barrier against any possible intruders.

Slowly, with trembling fingers that seemed to have lost all of their dexterity, the frightened brunette twisted the deadbolt into place, fumbling with the security chain for a few seconds before succeeding in sliding it home. That accomplished, she backed away from the door, staring at it as though expecting it to somehow bend inward; as though expecting the wood to suddenly splinter and the Viper's Pit owner to burst through like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, his blue eyes bright with malevolence, his fingers curved into claws and ready to lock around her throat...

_You had to go and break the rules...so I'm going to have to punish you..._

Mickie could feel a scream struggling to work its way out of her chest-a thin reedy sound, but a scream nonetheless. Already, the adrenaline flooding her veins was evaporating, leaving behind the sharp hollow bite of fear in its place. It didn't matter how many locks were on the door; the door could have been constructed out of reinforced steel and it wouldn't be enough to keep Randy out. If the Viper's Pit owner decided to come after her, no amount of obstructions would be enough to keep him from reaching her.

No, not _if._ _When_.

Mickie touched her bruised abdomen, wincing as her fingers located the spot where Randy's boot had made contact with her skin. He had kicked her, just as one would a stray dog, had come dangerously close to strangling her...all because she had said "No".

She had always known instinctively that the Viper's Pit owner was capable of violence; knew from the way he never seemed to react that he was a time bomb waiting to detonate. She had never imagined that _she_ would be the one to set him off; that one single word from her lips would be enough to ignite the explosion.

She hadn't just defied _him_; she had defied his position of authority, his sense of _control_. For one brief instance, she had snatched away his power and in the eyes of Randy Orton, that would always be unforgivable.

Plus...she had _shot_ him. If nothing else, he _had_ to be pissed about _that_.

Mickie felt an icy shiver ripple over her body, tightening her skin, prickling it up into goosebumps. What Randy had done to her...it was frightening, yes, but it was nothing compared to what she had heard in his _voice_. Just beyond the indifference and the sadistic enjoyment, there had been a sense of...what was it?

_Justification_, that was it_..._as though he truly believed that his actions, as unexpected and brutal as they had been, were a perfectly reasonable reaction to her response.

Mickie had known for a long time that Randy's moral compass was permanently skewed, but yet the memory of his voice, his hot breath hitting her ear, his forearm slowly but relentlessly cutting off her supply of oxygen...scared her more than anything she had ever endured.

If nearly choking her to death had been a _reasonable response_ for saying no...then what fate, what _punishment _awaited her for what had followed?

He wouldn't kill her-_that_ she knew for certain...but that was in no way an act of clemency. The Viper's Pit owner knew as well as she did that after what she had suffered, death _was _the mercy. More than that...it was a release, an _escape. _Killing her would have meant setting her free...and Randy would _never_ allow that to happen.

She had heard it in his voice: he would torture her, humiliate her, beat her almost to death...but he would never let her go.

Mickie felt a sudden weight in her left hand, pulling her arm down toward the floor. She looked down, almost mildly surprised to see her fingers still clamped around the butt of the gun. Her index finger was hovering over the trigger; it was probably some kind of small miracle that she hadn't shot herself in the foot during her flight from Randy's apartment to here. With a low cry, the brunette tossed the weapon onto the kitchen table, where it spun slowly, but thankfully did not discharge. Storming into the bedroom, she yanked open her top dresser drawer and grabbed her heroin kit, flouncing down onto the bed as she unwrapped it.

Mickie couldn't really remember preparing the dose; her fingers moved more out of muscle memory than any sort of conscious awareness. She nearly spilled the white powder (_the last of my stash_...she thought dimly in the back of her mind) before she got it into the spoon, and more than once, she came perilously close to setting her sleeve on fire.

When it was finished and the syringe was loaded, the brunette lifted it up, staring at the liquid inside with a kind of dull reverence. It was a huge dose, more than she had taken at any one time. If she injected this much H into her veins, there was a good chance that it would kill her.

But Mickie found that she didn't much care. If it did...then at least she would go out with a bang, soaring on a wave of euphoria before ultimately crashing and burning. At least, before she fell, she would know what it felt like to fly.

Mickie groped off to the side, her fingertips locating her CD player and pressing the "PLAY" button. The disc must have been paused; the music started almost instantly, playing a song that she didn't normally hear right at the start.

_**Let the right one in**_

_**Let the old dreams die**_

Mickie pushed the thought aside, holding the needle against her arm. She could feel the tip of it jabbing into her skin, but before she could slide it in further, before she could exert the tiny bit of pressure that would send the addictive chemical rushing through her veins...she hesitated.

_**Let the wrong ones go**_

_**They cannot**_

_**They cannot**_

_**They cannot do what you want them to do**_

She sat there stock-still for several seconds, the words of the song washing over her..but also, the recollection of Randy's voice, the utter contempt in his tone...

_I've tried to treat you decently...which is more than a junkie cunt like you deserves..._

_ ...A junkie cunt..._

_ ...like YOU..._

Mickie lifted the syringe back up to her face, studying it with dull fascination. Randy had introduced her to heroin back when the thirst had become almost unbearable, suggesting it as a means to deflect the path of the unholy hunger festering inside her. At the time, Mickie's only thought had been obliterating the cravings for blood and mayhem, but as her dependence on the drug grew, she gradually came to realize that the Viper's Pit owner hadn't been doing her any favors; he'd merely been strengthening his control, solidifying his hold on her. Turning her into a junkie gave him another reason to look down on her, another way to justify his treatment of her.

_It doesn't matter what I do to you, because you're just a worthless junkie cunt. You're just a weak little halfling who craves white powder instead of blood, and you'll always be NOTHING, a NONENTITY, to me..._

With a low choked sob, the brunette flung the loaded syringe from her. It hit the wooden floor, shattering into fragile glass shards, the liquid seeping out into the rough boards. Mickie stared at the mess she had made without speaking, pressing her lips together in a thin line.

_I'd rather be in pain than under your control..._she thought to herself with a kind of grim satisfaction. _Pain is something I'm used to; something you made sure that I would ALWAYS feel. It doesn't scare me...and I'd rather feel it than your poison rushing through my veins..._

Mickie's brown eyes flicked upward, her gaze traveling through the open doorway to the kitchen...to the gun lying on the scarred tabletop. Without really realizing that she was doing so, the brunette stood up, walking toward it. Glass crunched underneath her feet, but Mickie barely heard it; all she saw, all she was _aware_ of_, _was the ominous black weapon on the table, its barrel pointed toward her. All of her vision seemed to be tunneling inward, focusing only on it.

Her fingers closed around the butt and she lifted it up, savoring its heft, the weight of it in her hand. For one fleeting second, she thought about Dave, and the sadness that slammed into her was so acute that it almost tore her heart in half. Mickie wanted to weep, but found that she couldn't; it was as though her supply of tears had been totally depleted. Instead, she headed back toward the bedroom, gun still in hand, holding it with an almost tender care, music still playing faintly in the background.

_**Let the right one in**_

_**Let the old things fade**_

_**Put the tricks and schemes (for good) away**_

_That night I spent_ _with you..._Mickie thought. _I was happy. I realize that now. I was happy...when I thought that I had forgotten what happiness felt like. And it didn't matter that you were a vampire and I was a victim...all that mattered was that I was with you... and I was happy._

Mickie sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress giving slightly beneath her weight, her ruminations continuing. _I should have come that night, when you asked me to. I should have fought for you...but instead I ran away because I was scared. Scared of you, scared of us, scared of what I feel around you. I ran away...and now you're gone...and I don't think that I can stand it._

_ Do I love you? I don't know...I just know that I'd rather be dead than never see you again..._

Mickie turned the gun toward her, staring into the unflinching dark eye of the muzzle. A strangled sound escaped her, and her shoulders shook as she finally relinquished herself to her tears. Her voice was choked, piteous, barely audible through her sobs:

"Dave, p-please...I n-need you..."

* * *

Melina moaned in ecstasy, arching her back as Dave thrust into her from behind. The female vampire clenched the tangled sheets with both hands, her fingernails actually piercing and tearing the fabric. Dave gripped her ass, a pleasurable groan of his own escaping his lips as he pushed even deeper into her. Both of their bodies glistened with sweat, moving together in a perfectly synchronized unison.

Melina's hair tumbled down around her face in long loose waves. Reaching down, Dave took hold of her blond-and-black tresses, tugging gently and pulling her back against him. Pausing for a moment in his thrusts, he ran his other hand down the length of her body, taking in the myriad of sensations that accompanied the motion: the softness of her skin, the supple curves of her breasts, the small hard beads of her nipples, the waves of heat emanating from where their bodies joined. Moving his hand back up to her face, he touched her chin, turning her toward him and sealing her mouth in a tender kiss.

Melina returned the kiss, but Dave could sense the impatience lurking behind her ardor, the slightly annoyed desire for him to finish what he had started. After all, their relationship was based on lust and physical desire...not love. Tenderness would come later, if Melina so chose it...but right now, it was obvious that the only thing the female vampire wanted from him was to be fucked, and fucked _hard_.

Dave willingly obliged her, breaking off the kiss and shooting his hips upward in a single angled thrust that evoked a cry of surprised pleasure from Melina. She immediately assumed her original position, her cries gradually evolving into moans as the intensity of Dave's thrusts increased.

The big man thought, with a kind of grim amusement, that Melina would have been surprised to know that in some ways, he was just as impatient as she for this little..._interlude_...to continue-although he doubted their motives were the same. She clearly wanted the pleasure to go on and on without ceasing...while he only wanted it to end. There was no doubt that he was enjoying it on a purely physical level; his body was actively and _willingly_ engaging in fucking Melina.

His mind, on the other hand...was a million miles away. He was about as emotionally engaged in what was happening as he would be doing a load of laundry.

In the back of his head, Dave couldn't help but appreciate the irony. Most men would have given up their right arm to be balls-deep inside a beautiful woman like Melina right now...but yet while that was exactly where he was, _he_ just didn't care.

_He just didn't care._

Dave tilted his head up toward the ceiling, trying to banish everything except physical sensation from his mind...and then suddenly stiffened as an invisible force slammed into him.

It was like being hit with a typhoon, only worse, because this tempest was constituted not of water, but of _emotion_. Pain, anguish, and fear whipped around his skull with the shrieking keenness of a winter gale, digging into his brain, threatening to shred his soul to pieces...and mixed with its wordless howl, a familiar voice, crying out his name in a miserable moan.

_Daaaaaaave..._

Images flashed briefly across his vision, like individual frames in a reel of film, creating a story that he could barely grasp...and yet somehow totally understood.

Mickie. Randy. The attack. The flight.

And the gun, its muzzle like a lidless black eye, staring back at him silently. _Ominously._

The big man froze, his spine growing rigid, as though a steel bar had been rammed down through the top of his head. Below him, Melina's rapturous writhing ceased as she realized that Dave had stopped. "Dave, come on," she urged, panting for breath. A faintly irritated note had crept into her voice. "Baby, I'm so close; _please_...don't _stop_-"

"I have to go," the big man replied flatly, and in one single abrupt motion, he pulled out and pushed Melina back down onto the bed.

The female vampire landed rather ungraciously, her legs sprawled out, her bare ass sticking up in the air. She immediately scrambled up into a sitting position, her mouth hanging agape, her expression full of furious surprise. "W-_What_?" she sputtered. "_Now_? Are you _kidding _me? What could _possibly_-"

"It doesn't concern you," Dave had already moved to the closet, pulling on a black t-shirt and jeans. He didn't look at her as he spoke. "This...this is something...that I _have_ to do."

"Where are you-" Melina began, but the big man had already exited the room without so much as a hasty farewell. Blinking in incredulity and utter frustration, the female vampire screamed, vaulting off the bed and hurrying out after him.

She caught up with Dave in the entrance hallway, still nude, her long hair tousled and half-obscuring her face. The big man was at the door, his huge hand reaching for the knob. Melina's dark eyes widened in panicked horror and she grabbed his wrist with both hands, dragging him back a few paces. "No!" she shrieked. "You can't do this! It's almost _dawn_! You'll be _killed_-"

Dave didn't move, but the female vampire could feel him resisting her, slowly but surely dragging them back toward the door. Melina dug her heels into the carpet, yanking back with all her strength, fully prepared to rip her lover's arm right out of the socket if necessary. "Dave...baby..." she pleaded. "_Listen _to me-"

With a low growl, Dave spun around, his free hand shooting out and clamping around her throat, cutting the female vampire off in mid-squawk. He squeezed, possibly harder than he meant to, and there was a soft cracking sound as some of the smaller bones in Melina's throat snapped. The dark-haired beauty immediately froze, her eyes twin pools of mute horror.

A broken neck wouldn't kill Melina...but it was certainly enough to get her attention.

Dave leaned down, until his face was almost level with Melina's, feeling nothing except annoyance; annoyance that she was impeding his progress, blocking his way. He stared at her without speaking, noting for the first time fear glimmering in her dark eyes, and realized that she no longer recognized him. Well...that made two of them.

But the big man had no time to ruminate on this, just as he had no chance to stop the furious roar that burst out of him, his saliva actually splattering against Melina's cheek as he bellowed into her face:

"_DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND, YOU STUPID BITCH? I HAVE TO GO! I HAVE TO GO!"_

Off to the side, he heard a door open, and out of the corner of his eye, Dave saw two figures racing toward him, fangs bared, eyes glinting red. Miz and Morrison, no doubt coming to Melina's aid.

With one abrupt movement, Dave flung Melina away from him, with the same ease as one would hurl a rag doll. There was a small table along the edge of the hallway, an ornate vase resting on its surface. Melina's back collided with the vase, shattering it into jagged porcelain shards. She landed awkwardly on the table and its legs gave way beneath her weight, sending it and her crashing to the floor.

Dave watched her descent with a kind of detached observation; seeing it without really seeing it. His head snapped to the side. Miz and Morrison were almost upon him; he could almost smell the blood on Miz's breath. The mohawked vampire lunged at him, snarling, but before his frenzied swipe could connect, Dave twisted out of the way. His hand closed around the knob; turning it, he wrenched the door open and tumbled out into the hall.

He didn't even look over to see if the door had closed, but instead bolted toward the stairwell. Behind him, he could hear Miz's enraged shout: "_Motherfucker_! I'll kill you! I'll fucking _kill _you-"

Dave didn't glance back.

* * *

The big man burst out of the apartment complex, moving at top speed-which, for him, was faster than the average person could see. He couldn't remember the last time he had run like this-maybe at the beginning of his immortal existence, when he had been younger and less cautious, but certainly not anytime in recent memory.

Dave whipped his head back, casting a preoccupied glance at the gleaming glass building receding behind him. There had a moment or two on the stairs when he was certain that Melina's little "pets" were going to catch up with him, but now that he was outside, he knew he was safe. The female vampire had been correct; dawn _was_ approaching, and while those two might be completely loyal and totally insane, they were by no means crazy or devoted enough to risk possible incineration.

But it didn't matter, because his thoughts were already drifting away from the gruesome twosome, traveling ahead to the one person in all of this chaos that mattered.

To Mickie.

He had heard her. In the depths of her misery, she had called out to him with her mind...and he had heard her. Out of the sea of thoughts that surrounded him daily, hers alone had been able to reach him. And he had done more than just hear her...he had felt her pain as though it was his own.

Somehow, even across a great divide, he was able to empathize with Mickie, to feel what she was feeling, to share her agony. He didn't understand _how_, or _why_...but that didn't matter.

The only thing that mattered was reaching her in time. Reaching her before she-

Dave broke off that terrifying train of thought as he arrived at Mickie's apartment. Shoving open the front door, he vaulted up the steps, landing by landing, his movements almost comically gazelle-like. Arriving at Mickie's floor, he strode down the dimly-lit hallway, his dark eyes fixed on the door at the far end. She was there; he could feel it; _knew_ it somehow with every fiber of his body.

The floorboards creaked and shuddered beneath his weight, and Dave mused that it would be just his luck if they chose to give out now, cracking and sending him crashing through to the floor below. They held, however, and he was able to reach Mickie's door without incident.

Even though he knew that he had no time to waste, the big man hesitated, reaching out to tentatively touch the scored surface of the door. As soon as he did, however, another wave of sensation careened into him, almost sending him reeling backwards, as though the brief contact had been sufficient to create a psychic link between him and the apartment's sole inhabitant.

He felt the cold oily surface of the gun barrel slide between his lips; he could almost feel it banging against his teeth. And with it came that familiar rush of desperate sadness, of awareness without hope, accompanied by a single word...

_Goodbye..._

Dave's eyes widened in horror, the cry tearing from his mouth in a frantic scream: "_Mickie_!" Rotating slightly to the side, he put his shoulder to the door, slamming into it with all of his raw power. The door didn't stand a chance; its hinges popped out of the wall like a cork exiting a bottle. It hit the floor with a crash, its clamor almost drowned out by the deafening roar of the gun...

* * *

Melina sat in front of her vanity mirror, studying her image in the silvered glass. Contrary to popular myth, vampires _did _cast a reflection-a misconception that was no doubt the invention of that drunk Stoker. Melina had met him once, in London while he was writing that silly little book of his. At the time, she'd thought it nothing more than an amusing fairy tale concocted by an alcoholic; she had no idea that that "silly little book" would one day become a reference text of sorts about her species.

Useless man; she should have snapped his neck when she had the opportunity.

Melina turned her head to the side, wincing a little as she did so. The broken bones in her throat had already knitted up and healed, but that didn't mean that they didn't still hurt like a motherfucker. The slashes and cuts on her back from the broken porcelain had closed up as well, but the newly-healed skin still smarted. The female vampire reached up, absently running her thumb over her lower lip, disgusted by the uneasiness she still saw simmering in her dark eyes.

She wasn't afraid; fear was something that had died in her a long time ago. If there was a word for what she was right now, it was most likely..._apprehensive_.

She had seen something in Dave tonight; something that she had never seen before, had never expected to see _ever_. In the span of ten years that made up their relationship, he had never hurt her. Oh sure, the sex had gotten rough sometimes, but even in the midst of his most furious rages, Dave had never lifted his hand against her...certainly never manhandled her like he had tonight.

Despite her lover's size and strength, she had always thought of him as _weak_-but the look in his eyes, the way he spoke...she was sure that he genuinely would have killed her if she tried to stop him. In that moment, she had ceased to be his lover, his _maker_...and was merely a obstacle that was blocking his path.

If her boys hadn't come running to her aid in time...well, she didn't need to dwell on the "what ifs"; only the "what nows".

Her relationship with the big man had always been rocky. Melina didn't deny it; there had always been something between them that refused to click. But she had time and time again been able to bridge that disconnect by being the one in control. If not for her, Dave would have been dead a thousand times over; he owed her _everything_, including his life. It might not be love...but it was something all the same. That was why, no matter how many times he left, no matter how bad it got, _he always came back_.

But if things changed...if, inexplicably, she somehow lost that precious control...then _everything_ would be affected. Melina didn't like to think about how old she was-knowing one's age was _so_ gauche-but she had lived long enough to view any potential change as a threat.

Change was unpredictable, it was frightening...and in the worst of circumstances, it got you killed.

Melina looked over her shoulder, ignoring the fleeting flash of pain that accompanied it, glancing at the black drapes covering the windows. The sky might have been hidden from her, but she could still tell, with some kind of preternatural awareness, that the sun was just about to rise, peeking up over the tops of the buildings, sending its lethal golden light into every corner...

The female had had (and lost) enough immortal companions over the years to know when one of them was dead. She might not have been able to read their thoughts, but she had still sensed their passings, rippling across her aura like faint vibrations on a spider web. Time had passed since Dave had gone charging out into the predawn like a blind fool, but so far, she hadn't felt that ripple yet; that psychic shiver telling her that he was gone.

Which meant that he was still alive.

Which meant that he needed to be..._dealt with_.

Almost precisely on cue, there was a sharp rap on the bedroom. Melina's gaze flicked toward it, but she said nothing. A moment passed, and the door swung open. The female vampire felt a slow smile slip across her lips as her boys entered.

Melina, as a general rule, had always limited herself to one "companion" at a time-Miz and Morrison were the exception to that rule. She had first encountered them three years ago-merely human then, but still inseparable-and had been as unable to resist them as a small child who spies a puppy in a store window.

She had seen the raw potential in them then, and since that time, the pair had only exceeded her expectations. They were completely different-and in that way, they worked. Morrison had the sense...while Miz possessed the insanity. Together, they were more like a single entity than two individuals, creating a perfectly contained juggernaut of destruction and mayhem that never failed to amaze her.

"How's your neck, Mel?" Miz was the first one to speak, the red glint of his eyes fading back to blue.

Melina flashed the mohawked vampire a winning smile. Miz had always been the slightly more adoring of the two, and she never failed to reward him for it. "Better, thanks."

"You wanted to see us?" That was Morrison; business as usual. Melina swung her gaze in his direction, her expression cooling ever-so-slightly.

She made a small gesture with her hand. "Sit." The pair complied without really adhering to her directive; Miz leaned back against the bed post, while Morrison did the same against the dresser. Their eyes were fixed on her.

Melina rotated around to face them, crossing one leg daintily over the other. She had donned a short silky robe, but underneath it, she was still nude-and she knew that the boys were focused just as much on that as they were on her every word. "I have a job for you two." She leaned back, propping her elbows up on the vanity table, the front of her robe falling open and exposing a healthy but not indecent amount of cleavage. "As you know, Dave's gone-"

"Good riddance," Miz interjected hotly. "That guy's a tool. After what he did to you-"

Melina held up a finger, indicating silence, and Miz immediately snapped his mouth shut. The female vampire went on. "Dave's gone...and I don't like it. I don't like his attitude...and I don't like his absence."

"What do you want us to do?" Morrison's tone had taken on a kind of sly interest. The brown-haired man crossed his arms over his chest, an almost-smile touching his lips.

Melina's expression didn't change. "I want you to find him. Find him...and bring him back."

"Bring him _back_?" Miz's voice was disbelieving. "Mel, c'mon! We're better off without him-"

This time, Melina shot a pointed stare in the mohawked vampire's direction, and Miz obligingly fell silent. The female vampire continued. "If he was just going off to sulk and play his little tortured monster routine, I wouldn't even care. But..._this_..." She hesitated, and hated the fact that she was hesitating. "_This..._is _different_. Whatever sent him out there tonight, it was worth killing _me_ for-"

"Another woman?" Morrison remarked lightly.

Melina shot him a glare, both for the interruption and the suggestion. "_Let's hope not_." she replied, and if her words had been acid, they would have eaten right through the floor. The female vampire fixed her gaze on the pair again, her expression relaxing a touch. "Anyway...he not only hurt _me_...he hurt my _feelings_." Her voice dripped with wounded sweetness. "He needs to be..._dealt with_." A sunny smile lit up her face...although it never quite reached her eyes. "He needs to be..._punished_."

"What condition do you want him in?" Miz cracked his knuckles, unable to keep the sadistic glee out of his tone.

Melina regarded him neutrally. "_Alive_...and _preferably_ unharmed." The female vampire shrugged indifferently. "_But_...if he gives you any _trouble_...then do whatever you have to to bring him back." She looked from one to the other. "Any questions, boys?"

"Just one," Melina clasped her hands together over her knees, turning expectantly toward Morrison. The brown-haired man straightened up, his eyes fixed on hers. "Anything..._else_...you need us to do for you?"

Melina tilted her head up a little, a slow lazy smile spreading across her lips. "Well, now that you _mention _it..." She took hold of one of the ends of her robe belt, tugging it gently. "Dave left...without finishing what he started..." The loose knot slipped free, and the silky black garment melted open. "...and _now_, I have all this pent-up _frustration_..." She shrugged the robe off one shoulder. "...just _aching_ to be released." Off the other shoulder. The robe drifted down to the floor in a puddle of light fabric.

Melina uncrossed her legs, spreading them wide. Her gaze was still fixed nonchalantly on Morrison. "So...could you boys help me find..._release_?" Her voice was still soft, still sweet...but now husky with desire.

It had never mattered that they couldn't hear each other's thoughts; her boys had always been so perfectly attuned to her that she never had to tell them what to do. Somehow, they had this uncanny knack of knowing just what she needed at that particular moment.

And they were good, so very very _good_...at what they did.

With a few quick movements, Morrison unbuttoned his shirt, the fabric parting to reveal his chiseled chest and abdomen-spectacular, perhaps even _more_ spectacular than Dave. Dropping down to his knees, he crawled across the floor to her, pausing at the juncture between her legs. He leaned in, nibbling gently on her inner thighs, moving ever closer to the core of her, to the flower of her womanhood. Melina felt his breath caress her as he inhaled her scent, and she let out a sharp pleasurable gasp as his tongue caressed her, lapping skillfully at her most sensitive areas.

She felt Miz at her back, his mouth on her shoulder, her neck. Without disturbing Morrison, Melina leaned back to accommodate his partner, moaning as Miz kissed her chest, sucking on her breasts, his tongue flicking against her nipples.

He was like a baby, feeding at his mother's breast...and in some ways, that's what she was to him, to both of them: _their mother_. But their relationship...it was so much more _complete_, so much more _intimate_ than ordinary motherhood.

Melina let out another loud moan. Morrison was _amazing_; she felt like she was about to explode. As though he could sense this, Miz left off his exploration of her breasts, sliding his lips up to her throat. And as one final flick of Morrison's tongue sent her over the edge...Miz sank his fangs into her neck, sending her hurdling past the point of no return.

The female vampire screamed as she came, her body bucking uncontrollably as waves of pleasure washed over her. Through the golden haze of euphoria surrounding her, she could feel Morrison's arms, Miz's arms around her, supporting her, preventing her from accidentally hurting herself.

Good boys; _such_ good boys...

Morrison was holding her now, carrying her over to the bed. He would take her, and then Miz, over and over until all three of them passed out from pleasure. Because they were a part of her as much as Dave was a part of her. They belonged to her...and in some ways, she belonged to them.

As Morrison laid her on the bed, pausing to remove the remainder of his clothes, Melina murmured one final thought; one final directive of the subject of Dave:

"If there is...another woman...then _I want you to kill her_."

* * *

The apartment reeked of cordite and smoke. Dave's eyes began to water, but whether it was from the air or the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm him, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he couldn't move fast enough; it was as though the floor had transformed into molasses.

He reached the bedroom doorway after what felt like an hour, staggering a little, reaching out to grab the door frame with both hands. His heart stopped dead in his chest when he saw the still figure of Mickie sprawled across the bed.

Her scarred face was turned away from him. Her left arm was extended toward him, the gun still clasped limply in her hand. And even a non-expert like Dave could tell that it had been recently fired.

Dave heard a strange sound, and it took him a moment to realize that it was coming from his own throat, a wailing mournful cry that went on and on. Moving forward and almost falling onto the bed, he gathered Mickie into his arms, pressing his face against her neck. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with tears. "I'm so sorry. I never should have left you-" His voice broke and he began to cry, big gasping sobs.

The vampire cradled Mickie's head in his hand, slipping his fingers through the silky smoothness of her hair. Even in death, her skin was still warm, her pulse beating against his lips-

_Wait_.

Her pulse.

Beating.

Which meant-

Alive.

_She was still alive._

Right on cue, Mickie stirred, groaning softly. "Dave?" The big man lifted his head, staring down at the brunette with stunned bewilderment. Mickie blinked, staring back at him with very much the same expression. "You're here..." she whispered. Her low alto voice was full of almost childlike wonder.

Dave couldn't speak at first; he was still trying to wrap his brain around what had just happened. "You're...you're alive? But the shot...I-"

"I couldn't do it," Mickie's voice was near tears as well. Her expression was still incredulous, as though she couldn't believe that he was really here. "At the last second, I fired into the floor...because..." She stumbled, trying to find the right words. "Because...I heard you...in my head. I called out to you...and you answered." She reached up hesitantly, touching his face, running her fingers over his lips. Dave grabbed her hand, pressing his mouth to her fingertips. Mickie went on. "You didn't speak...not in words, anyway...but somehow I knew...that you didn't want me to do it."

Her brown eyes met his, clear and unafraid. "And so I didn't."

Dave stared at her for another long moment, and then pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her body. Mickie returned the embrace, and a few minutes later, they were both sound asleep.

_**And when at last it does**_

_**I'd say you were within your rights to bite**_

_**The right one and say, "What kept you so long?"**_

"_**What kept you so long?"**_


	15. Chapter 15: Falling Now

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I have been so bad with the FF these past couple months; my thesis has been kicking my ass. I managed to bang this one out on the tail end of my Thanksgiving break, but I'm going to warn you; I'm rusty and not as up to par as I'd like to be. Also, there's sex. There's a lot of sex. But, then again, how is that anything new, lol? Anyway, it's always important that you, my awesome readers and reviewers, like the chapters that I put out, so if you like this one, I managed to do something right.**

**A/A/N: The song lyrics in this chapter are from "Dull Boy" by Mudvayne. All rights, etc. belong to them.**

**Thank you to **Esha Napoleon, nikki1335, Girl on Fire, **and **Nastygrl25 **for reviewing the last chapter! Y'all are AWESOME and I love you ALL!

* * *

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Chapter 14: Falling Now

"Do you think she's prettier than Mel?"

Morrison glanced up from the book he'd been skimming through, fixing his partner with a disinterested stare. Despite the harsh riffs of Korn's "Make Me Bad" blasting through the speakers, he had no trouble hearing Miz's offhand remark. "Who?" the brown-haired vampire asked, his tone just as indifferent as his expression.

Miz leaned against the back of their shared futon, his fingers moving with lightning-like quickness over the Playstation controller's buttons, only half-paying attention to the wrestling game playing on the enormous flat-screen television-not that it would affect his performance. The mohawked vampire had been something of a video game prodigy in life; supernaturally-enhanced reflexes and a sudden influx of free time had only increased that skill exponentially. He glanced back at his partner, while his computer-generated avatar continued to strike and suplex his opponent with ease. "You know, _her_. This so-called _other _woman_. _The reason Davey Boy's gone; the reason he just pulled out in mid-stroke and left-"

Morrison let his gaze drift back down to the printed page, rolling his eyes, his mind already tuning his friend out. Miz had an annoying habit of resuming the threads of a conversation hours, even days, after it had ended-and right now was no exception.

Following their..._discussion_...with Melina, the two vampires had returned to their room to kill time until nightfall. Their maker had spared no expense in providing them with every sort of electronic entertainment available, resulting in a fully equipped space that would have been any frat boy's wet dream.

Despite all of the amusements surrounding him, however, Morrison was restless, unable to focus. He always felt this way during the hour just before sunset; a sort of claustrophobia, as though the walls themselves were closing in on him, entombing him forever. And it didn't matter how many gadgets he had to distract him-no movie or video game would ever be able to compare with the _hunt_.

The anticipation of the chase...

The thrill and triumph of the capture...

The moment when he sank his fangs into his prey's neck and felt the hot sweetness of their blood splash onto his tongue, along with a meaningless flicker of images that had once been their life...

Looking up at Miz, Morrison could tell, from the way his partner was almost listlessly playing his game, that he felt the same way. For the mohawked vampire, however, satisfaction came not from the hunt, but from the pain and suffering he inflicted on his victims. Morrison didn't exactly share his friend's taste for sadism, but he admired Miz's enthusiasm and flair for creativity.

After all, it was Miz who had proved time and time again that, deep down, human beings were all alike. No matter how tough they appeared on the surface; in the end, they were all just gibbering pieces of meat...

The mohawked vampire was still talking, unaware that his partner had ceased listening: "-the way I see it, this chick has got to be one hell of a fucking knockout-"

His words abruptly died away into silence as Morrison's book whizzed through the air toward his head. Miz instantly ducked, narrowly avoiding the speeding projectile, and the text instead connected with the plasma screen of their television, putting a huge hole through its center and sending up a shower of sparks.

The mohawked vampire cautiously lifted his head, eying the ruined electronic device with dismay before turning to gape open-mouthed at his friend. "What the hell, man? What's your problem?"

"_My_ problem?" Morrison retorted. "_You're_ the one asking me to psychoanalyze that big dumb freak!" The brown-haired vampire swung his long legs off the edge of the bunk bed, his handsome features twisted in a snarl. "Maybe it's not another woman. Maybe Dave's been batting for the other team. Maybe he's into little kids, or German Shepherds-the point is that _he's out there and we're stuck in here_!"

A brief silence followed his outburst. Miz said nothing; merely waited for his partner to continue. Morrison ran both hands through his long hair as he struggled to find the words, equal parts frustration and hatred written across his face. "All that power...and he doesn't even _use_ it...except against _us_." His eyes flicked up to meet Miz's, a flash of jealousy glinting in their depths. "He almost _killed _her...and yet she still wants him back."

"Then we make him pay," the mohawked vampire replied, his normally strident voice almost soothing. A sick smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "We leave him alive..._but we make him pay this time_."

For a moment or two, Morrison's expression didn't change; then, gradually, his features relaxed, easing in a smirk similar to his friend's. Miz wasn't surprised; after all the stupid decisions Morrison had talked him out of over the years, it only made sense that he was the only one who could quell the brown-haired vampire's rare rages.

In a way, it had never really mattered that they couldn't hear each other's thoughts, because his relationship with Morrison was rooted in something deeper, more primal, than words. What they shared...it was something akin to brotherhood; the mutual union of two depraved souls.

It had been like that from the beginning, when a computer's random selection had made them college roommates, and they had soon discovered that they shared similar..._predilections..._when it came to sex. Miz had been the one to persuade Morrison that they should act on their baser desires...but it had been Morrison who had showed him how to do it without getting caught.

All those women-was the number really in the hundreds? The police had questioned them, followed them, bullied them...but unfortunately couldn't produce enough physical evidence to charge them with anything. Miz remembered how smug he and Morrison had been during that time; how they'd openly mocked the cops behind closed doors, convinced that they were untouchable, _invincible._

And then one night, in a way neither one of them could have possibly foreseen, _everything_ had changed. That night, they chose the wrong girl...who turned out, ultimately, to be the _right_ girl.

_Call me Melina..._

She had given them a choice, staring down at them while Morrison had cradled his broken wrist and he his fractured jaw, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her pinky to see if her lipstick had smeared, soaking in their pain-filled whimpers with evident delight...

_It's simple, really...stay here and die...or come with me and live forever..._

He remembered sharing a look with Morrison; a single unspoken glance that nevertheless said everything-namely: _This bitch is crazy..._ But in the end, both of them had chosen life. And they had lived.

Oh _boy_, had they _lived_!

Because Melina _got_ them; she understood them in a way that no one else had before. More than that-she _encouraged _them. Was it any surprise, then, that they loved her?

Was it any surprise that they would want to protect her; to defend her by going after the one who had caused her pain?

The song ended, and there was a soft whirring sound as the stereo switched to the next track. For a second or two, there was nothing but quiet, and then Chad Gray's voice broke through it, filling the void with his maniacal whisper...

_**All work and no play makes me a dull boy**_

_**All work and no play makes me a dull boy**_

The two vampires eyed each other, grinning. This song...it was more than just their personal mantra-it was also a signal; a musical cue that the sun had set and the locks had disengaged, unleashing them back out into the night.

The pair moved simultaneously. Morrison snatched his aviator sunglasses off the nightstand, while Miz grabbed his hat, a black fedora with a zebra-striped band. The mohawked vampire cracked his neck back and forth a few times, his eyes already gleaming red in anticipation.

"_Showtime..."

* * *

_

"Do you...have...a girlfriend?"

The query was so unexpected that Dave was momentarily thrown for a loop. He had been lying here with Mickie since dawn, his arms wrapped around her slender body, drinking in her presence without speaking a single word. Her hesitant question was the first thing he'd heard in hours-and it was one that he didn't much care to answer.

The vampire pulled Mickie closer to him, running his hands up her body to bury them in her golden-brown hair, painfully aware that his silence was a response in itself.

"You _do..._don't you?" A faint note of dull accusation had crept into Mickie's voice. The brunette gripped his t-shirt with both hands, pressing her face against his chest. "Randy said that you would..."

At the mention of the Viper's Pit owner, both of them stiffened. Beyond the few fractured images that he had glimpsed in his head, Dave had no idea what Randy had done to her...but from the way Mickie had been tossing and turning and crying out in her sleep, he was certain that it was something terrible.

"Is she...beautiful?" Mickie's voice was muffled, but there was no masking the trepidation in her tone.

Dave let his eyes drift open. Even though the room was pitch black, he had no trouble making out its corners and contours, the shapes of furniture, the form of Mickie curled up beside him. The vampire turned his head toward the window, his ultra-sensitive hearing picking up the sounds of traffic and conversation emanating from outside. "Yeah..." he replied after several long seconds. "She's beautiful. Beautiful...and cold...and heartless. She's like-" Dave gestured helplessly with his free hand, trying to come up with a suitable analogy. "-like a statue. Perfect, but...there's no warmth there. No..._life_."

Mickie didn't reply to this, but the vampire felt her take a deep breath, and after a moment or two, he heard her voice again, even softer and more tentative: "Do you..._love_...her?"

Dave closed his eyes again, leaning back against the pillow. "No," he replied honestly. "I don't. I _can't_. She...I don't even think she knows what love is. It's like...she's been alive so long that she's forgotten how."

The vampire leaned down, placing a kiss on the top of Mickie's head before continuing. "She wants me to be like her...to be as dead inside as she is...but I'm not." Dave slowly shook his head. "No matter how many times I feed-" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt Mickie's petite frame tense, but he forced himself to continue. "-I can't stop seeing the _person_...and she doesn't understand that. She doesn't understand how I can still care."

Dave rolled over onto his side, still holding Mickie against him. His gaze was once again fixed on the window; on the unseen patch of sky just beyond its closed curtains. "It's funny, though...because she used to be all I thought about. Every night, I'd go out, party a little, feed...and then come back home to her. But now..."

"Now?" Mickie echoed, and Dave had the distinct impression that she was staring up at him.

The vampire brought his hand up, touching her face, his fingers caressing scar tissue and unblemished skin with equal tenderness. "Now..." he continued. "The only thing I think about...the only place I want to be...is right here with you."

For a moment, there was nothing, and then all of a sudden, Mickie sat up. "Why?" she demanded, her voice full of harsh disbelief. "Why do you want me? Why _would_ you want me?" Dave was so stunned by her sudden change in demeanor that words temporarily deserted him.

The brunette went on, turning away from him, rising from the bed, pacing back and forth. "Look at me!" Mickie gestured at her body, at the scars and bite marks that not even darkness could conceal. "I'm damaged goods! I'm a fucking _junkie_!" She slapped the creases of her elbows, where Dave noticed for the first time the bruised track marks of a habitual user.

She turned away from him, but the vampire could already hear the tears creeping into her voice. "I let Randy..._do things_...to me...for money...for _heroin._ He told me...that it was the only way...and I _believed _him!"

Mickie whirled around, and the piteous expression on her face made Dave's heart wrench. Tears streamed down her scarred cheeks as she continued. "I believed _everything_ he _ever_ told me! Just like-" The brunette abruptly fell silent, but the vampire heard the remainder of the sentence echo through her thoughts, as clearly audible as if she'd spoken it aloud:

_Just like...when he said...that no one would ever want me again..._

In one fluid motion, Dave sat up, grabbing Mickie by the waist and pulling her to him. The brunette gasped at the contact, but didn't pull away. The vampire tilted his head up, peering into her face. "Listen to me," he whispered roughly. "Randy was _wrong_. You know why?"

Dave paused, hesitating. He had been suspecting for a while that Mickie could hear his thoughts, perhaps almost as strongly as he did hers. It was implausible, impossible even-but then again, so was everything else about their relationship.

Maybe he was wrong-maybe she _couldn't_ hear him-but either way, he had to find out. He had to _know_...because there had to be a reason he was here right now, about to throw everything aside for a woman, a _human_, that he still barely knew.

Dave gazed up into Mickie's tear-filled brown irises, allowing three little words to drift across the forefront of his mind, as though they were nothing more than a passing thought:

_I love you..._

Almost immediately, the brunette gasped, her eyes growing wide, her jaw dropping. Dave encircled her waist with his arms, drawing her even closer, running his hands up her back. "I love you..." he repeated, his voice little more than a murmur.

He felt Mickie's hands tentatively touch his arms, trailing gently over his biceps to his shoulders. Then, all at once, her lips met his, her mouth melting open, her tongue darting out to touch his. Dave gripped the back of her neck as he returned the kiss, pulling her down with him onto the bed.

* * *

Cody set down a newly dried glass, then picked up a wet one carefully in one hand, using the dish towel to wipe away suds and water. The bartender was alone-the Viper's Pit had just closed for the night, Ted had called in sick, and Randy was in the back doing God knows what-and his mind was a million miles away, already focused on the flimsy excuse he was going to have to give his girlfriend for why he was coming home so late.

Things weren't going well between the two of them; Roucka had become convinced that the reason Cody didn't talk about his job was because he was seeing another woman. Oh, if she only knew the truth-

The dull monotony of his thoughts screeched to a sickening halt as the front door suddenly burst open, so hard that it could have only been kicked in. The dark-haired young man jumped back in surprise, the glass slipping from his grasp and shattering on the floor. "The _fuck-_" he exclaimed, his voice fading off into silence as two figures strolled into the bar.

Cody wasn't the greatest when it came to spotting vamps-even after five years at the Viper's Pit, he was still only right about fifty percent of the time. However, one look at _these_ two was enough to tell him that he was not only dealing with bloodsuckers, but _dangerous _ones at that.

The dark-haired young man tried to speak, but found that he couldn't; it was as though the line of communication between his brain and his tongue had been severed. He swallowed hard, trying to force moisture down a throat that felt as though it had been stuffed with sand. "We're closed-" he managed to squeak, instantly hating how meek and terrified his voice sounded.

The shorter of the pair glanced in his direction, as though finally acknowledging his presence. Cody couldn't see his face; it was half-obscured under the brim of a black fedora hat. "_Really_?" the vampire drawled, his tone full of an awful mocking. There was something unspeakable about its sound, like the black glitter of blood in moonlight, and Cody inexplicably found himself thinking about Mickie, about the night she had staggered in here half-dead...

The fedora-clad vamp cocked his head to the side. "See, that's _unfortunate_, because..." He took a step forward-and then all of a sudden, he was directly in front of Cody, both hands planted on the scratched surface of the bar.

He was so close that Cody could see the tips of his fangs, could smell the fetid reek of blood on his breath. His blue eyes, when they met Cody's, had just a hint of red in them, and it took everything the bartender had not to scream. "...I was _really_ hoping to get a drink," the vamp finished, his voice a soft menacing murmur.

Cody gulped, feeling a warm wet rush as his bladder suddenly let go...and then a new sound echoed through the space: the unmistakable sound of a shotgun round being chambered. All three of them froze, turning slowly toward the source of the noise.

Randy stood just outside the entrance to the back room, a twelve-gauge pump-action shotgun in both hands, its muzzle aimed directly at the fedora-clad vampire's head. Cody felt relief flood through his body, turning his limbs to water; he had never been so happy to see his boss in his life.

"We're closed," the Viper's Pit owner intoned flatly.

The fedora-clad vampire took a step back. The shotgun had obviously thrown him for a loop, but Cody could tell from the expression on his face that he was still trying to regain control of the situation. The vampire sneered, looking Randy up and down. "You really think that peashooter is gonna stop me?" he shot back, his voice faintly challenging.

Randy didn't move. "It will...if the shells are coated with silver." He paused, and Cody thought he saw the ghost of a smile flit across his boss's face. "Which they are."

At this, the smirk vanished from the vampire's face and he moved back even further, putting up both hands in a show of surrender. His companion-a taller man with long hair and a pair of aviator sunglasses-followed suit. "Look, man," the fedora-clad bloodsucker replied hastily, his tone now penitent. "We've obviously gotten off on the wrong foot. We just came here for information."

Randy didn't move. "Go on."

The two vamps exchanged a look before turning their focus back to Randy. "We were told that this is the place to come to if you're looking for someone." the taller one eventually ventured. There was a pause, followed by another furtive glance. "Someone who's not..._human_."

The Viper's Pit owner's expression didn't shift one iota, but he tilted his chin up a little. "I'm listening," he answered after a few lengthy seconds had ticked by.

This time, the shorter vampire was the one to speak. "Big guy, built like a tank. Dark hair, dark eyes..." He stopped for a moment, and Cody thought he saw a look of contempt flash across the bloodsucker's face. "He's pretty hard to miss; what, between his size and that bleeding heart of his that he keeps strapped to his sleeve." There was no mistaking the bitterness and the sarcasm in his voice.

For several agonizing moments, no one moved. No one _breathed_. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Cody saw Randy lower the barrel of the gun an inch or two. "This vamp you're talking about..." the Viper's Pit owner mused, his tone almost thoughtful. "His name wouldn't be _Dave_...would it?"

The bloodsucking duo shared another look, this one filled with puzzlement and surprise. "Yeah..." the taller one replied cautiously. "How'd you know?"

Cody wasn't even aware that he had been holding his breath until he felt his chest grow tight. He moved back, accidentally colliding with the front tier of liquor bottles in the process. Randy's azure irises flicked casually toward the sound of tinkling glass, as though he hadn't realized until now that the bartender was even here. "Cody, get a couple of packets out of the fridge for our guests." His tone was neutral, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. "And make sure you heat it up before you serve it."

The dark-haired young man immediately sprang into action, his limbs operating more out of automatic obedience than any sort of voluntary motor response. The crotch of his pants was uncomfortably damp, but Cody no longer cared; his only thought was that if he actually made it out of here alive tonight, he was going to hug Roucka extra tight when he got home...

As the double doors swung closed behind the bartender, Randy turned his attention back toward the vampire duo. "We'll talk upstairs," he remarked. Swinging the shotgun back up so that its barrel was now pointed toward the ceiling, he added: "I might be able to help you out."

"How?" the shorter vampire-obviously the more hotheaded of the two-blurted out. "Have you seen him?"

At this, the Viper's Pit owner smiled-a lean predatory smile that would have sparked a second round of bladder release in Cody. "More than that," Randy replied, his voice a sibilant whisper. "_I know where he is_."

* * *

Dave ripped open Mickie's tank top, a low growl of need escaping his throat as he covered her breasts with kisses. For a moment, he was afraid that his impatience would frighten her, but the brunette only moaned, arching her body upward as the vampire peeled off the remnants of her top.

Dave moved upward, kissing the curve of her neck, teasing her mouth with the gentlest of kisses, his lips grazing hers. He was on top of her now, his massive frame covering her without crushing her, and he ground his hips against hers, just enough for her to feel how aroused he was.

Mickie moaned again, even louder this time. She tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, and Dave aided her, stripping it off and tossing it aside. He gazed back down at the brunette, unable to bite back a pleasurable groan as she ran her hands down his bare chest, her fingertips lightly caressing his skin.

Dave bent down, kissing her cheek, nibbling her earlobe, savoring every soft rapturous noise that his explorations evoked. Taking hold of Mickie's arms, he gently pinned them above her head, her fingers entwining with his. "Do you want me?" he asked, punctuating his query with another press of his hips, a little bit harder this time.

The movement caused Mickie to cry out with need, her body arching up until it pressed against his. "Yes," she gasped, her alto voice husky with raw desire.

Dave let go of her hands, sliding his own down to the waistband of her jeans, undoing the top button, tugging down the zipper. "Tell me," he murmured, slipping his hand into her pants. "Tell me that you want me."

At first, Mickie's voice was little more than a breathy whisper: "I want you..." Then, as the vampire's fingers found her: "Oh God! I want you! _I want you_!"

Her cries were all the incentive that Dave required; in a flash, he had stripped off the remainder of their clothes, until they both lay naked on the tousled sheets. The vampire cast one long lingering look over Mickie's nude body-perfect, so unbelievably perfect-before forcing his gaze back up to her face. The brunette's countenance was apprehensive, but her eyes were dark and glassy with pleasure, and when Dave leaned down to kiss her hard on the mouth, she returned it with a ferocity that startled him. Wrapping his arms around her slender frame, he rolled over onto his back, pulling her on top.

Instantly, Mickie tensed up, and Dave could sense her habitual wariness, her fear of rejection, creeping back in. He could feel her pulling away, her arms drawing back to cover herself. "I...can't...

"Hey..." Dave put his hands on her waist, holding her against him. "It's okay," He reached up, touched her face, his thumb caressing her lower lip. He could feel Mickie's long hair brushing against his arm. Sliding his hand back to her neck, he pulled her down until his mouth grazed hers. "Just move," the vampire whispered. "Move...and I'll move with you."

Mickie didn't reply, but Dave felt her hesitant nod of assent. She slowly rose to a sitting position, and the vampire moaned softly as she took hold of his erect member, guiding him into her.

As soon as he was inside, Dave felt that same dizzying sense of vertigo that he had experienced the first time, as though he was in two places at once. He could feel Mickie's pleasure as well as his own, an intoxicating rush of sensations, and as the brunette began to move above him, the feeling only intensified. The feeling of her, the warm heat of her inner walls surrounding him, was almost too much to bear, and he grabbed hold of her waist, meeting her downward movements with upward thrusts of his own.

As his rhythm increased and he pushed harder and harder into her, Mickie's gasps became moans, and then cries. Dave could feel the climax building inside of both of them, like a flame gathering fuel and growing into a blazing inferno. His skin felt like it had been electrified, multiplying and intensifying each sensation until it seemed as though the slightest touch would drive him mad.

Looking up at Mickie, he could see that she was at the brink of release, her limbs liquid, her eyes dazed and half-closed. The vampire gave one final thrust-a small movement, but enough to push both of them over the edge. For a moment, there was nothing...and then the wave crashed over him, sending any remaining thoughts spiraling into incoherence...

* * *

Miz hooked his index finger through the handle of the coffee mug, savoring the hot blood as it washed down his throat. Granted, he would have preferred it directly from the artery, but then again, Randy had had the decency to heat the blood up to body temperature-and the mohawked vampire wasn't about to argue with anyone who showed him that type of courtesy.

Especially when said individual had leveled a shotgun at his head only a short while before.

Instead, Miz took another generous swallow of the vital liquid before setting the mug back down on the table, crossing his arms over his chest and eying their host with faint suspicion. "So..." he began. "What's _your_ beef with our guy, anyway?"

Next to him, Morrison let out a snorting sound that could have almost been a laugh, trying to cover it up by chugging down a hefty mouthful of blood. Across the table, Randy's expression didn't change; he merely leaned back, adopting a posture similar to Miz's.

As he did so, the mohawked vampire noticed a thick white bandage wrapped around the Viper's Pit owner's tattooed upper arm. It was relatively new, and towards the center, it was tinged pink, as though blood was starting to seep through.

"No reason," Randy's voice was flat, disinterested. "Except..." He paused for a moment, and Miz thought he saw a flicker of fury flit across the Viper's Pit owner's face. "He took something...something that belonged to _me_."

Miz picked up his mug again, nodded toward the bandage. "He do that?"

Randy followed his line of sight, staring at the tourniquet with the same detached bemusement. "No..._she_ did...when she ran off to be with him." At this, Miz shot his friend a look, one that could best be described as _I told you so_...

The Viper's Pit owner went on. "Truthfully, I know I shouldn't care so much about some useless junkie whore, but Mickie..." The blue-eyed man shrugged nonchalantly. "Let's just say that she's a pet project of mine-"

"-and you don't want to waste your time starting over with someone else," Morrison finished, setting his mug down on the table.

Randy raised his eyebrows, his face's only indication that he was at all surprised by Morrison's intuitive grasp of the situation. "Finally...someone who sees the big picture," he remarked, a trace of approval seeping into his tone. "I tried to..._explain_...things to Dave; he just got on this moral high horse." The Viper's Pit owner took a sip from his water bottle. "Guy's got quite a mouth on him."

The bloodsucking duo exchanged another look before turning their attention back to Randy, their faces baring identical countenances of commiseration and irritation. "Tell me about it!" Miz blurted out. He gestured between him and Morrison. "We've been putting up with his whining for the last three years." The mohawked vampire shook his head. "Waste of fangs, if you ask me."

"Hm..." Randy replied indifferently. His blue eyes bore into theirs with an uncomfortable intensity. "Maybe it's time _someone_ put him out of his misery."

Awkward silence followed his remark as all three individuals pondered the implications of that statement. After a while, Randy leaned back in his chair. Reaching into his front shirt pocket, he pulled out a folded slip of paper. "Here's her address," He slid it across the table to Morrison, who hesitantly accepted it. "If she's not there, wait around for a bit; Mick doesn't like to venture too far from home."

Another wave of quiet ensued, broken eventually by Miz, who cleared his throat and rose to his feet. "Well, we should get going...thanks for the blood, man." He turned to go, and Morrison followed suit.

"One more thing," Randy's voice was soft, but there was something unmistakably authoritative about it, and both vampires turned back to look at him, each of them wondering what it was about _this_ guy that was so damn unnerving.

The Viper's Pit owner fixed them both with a steely glare. "If Mickie tries to stop you-and knowing her, she probably will-feel free to..._discipline_...her for all the trouble she's caused us."

The two vampires exchanged a knowing look. "Any requests?" Miz replied. His tone was casual, but he was unable to mask the eagerness lurking at the edges of it.

Randy said nothing at first; only sipped his water, and the mohawked vampire finally grasped what it was about this guy that freaked him out so much. Those flat dead eyes...and the wall of silence behind them...it was like staring into a black hole.

Or an abyss.

"Leave her alive," Randy's tone was nonchalant, as though they were merely discussing the weather. "But make it slow." The Viper's Pit owner paused, and once again, there was that brief flash of utter rage.

His deep voice was like the chilling clang of a church bell. "I want the bitch to suffer."

* * *

Through the haze of pleasure that surrounded him, Dave could see Mickie, her body convulsing, a look of near-ecstasy illuminating her features as she relinquished herself to the orgasm. She leaned back, almost too far, and the vampire quickly caught her before she could fall, pulling her down into his embrace.

For several minutes, they lay there together, their bodies glistening with sweat. Gradually, as the pleasurable haze dissipated and reality reasserted itself, Dave became aware that Mickie's arms were wrapped around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder, her whole body shaking. It took him only a second to realize that she was _crying_.

Alarmed, the vampire rolled over onto his side, pulling Mickie back so he could look at her. "Mickie?" He tentatively reached out to touch her face, but the brunette pushed his hand away, swiping at her tearstained cheeks.

She was talking; her voice soft and barely coherent. "I can't...I _can't_...not until you know..."

"Know what?" Dave started to ask, his voice dying away into silence as Mickie's brown eyes met his. They were calm and lucid...and yet filled with an intense pain. Without speaking, she reached down, taking hold of his hand, slipping her fingers through his.

"I'm going to tell you something..." she began, her voice shaky but resolute. "Something...that I've never told anyone." She stopped, squeezing Dave's hand tightly. The vampire returned the grip, reaching out with his other arm to encircle her shoulders, drawing her against him.

Mickie went on. "I'm going to tell you...how it happened."

She felt silent, and in the wake of her words, Dave heard the faint echo of that wordless mental scream grow louder and louder, as whatever secret anguish Mickie had carried within herself all this time was dragged back to the surface.

Taking a deep breath, the brunette began to speak.


	16. Chapter 16: The Burden of Memory

**A/N: YAY for new chapters! It's been a busy spring, but I finally got my Master's and lost a traitorous appendix. I'm going to be honest, this chapter took a TON out of me emotionally. It was one that I knew from the beginning I was going to write, but that didn't make it any easier. I swear, by the end, I was practically crying. Hopefully, you'll enjoy the chapter. Or lease appreciate it. PEACE!**

**Thank you to **Claire O'Mack, Esha Napoleon, Animal Luvr 4 Life, BigRedMachineUK, nikki1335, Girl on Fire, gigi, **and **MickieisAwesome **for reviewing the last chapter! You know that I love you ALL *hugs all around***

* * *

Chapter 15: The Burden of Memory

_Where I'm from isn't important; it's a small town, just like a million others. I left it when I was nineteen, and I haven't been back since. The life I had there was normal, almost painfully so-I had a mother, a father, an older brother; there was even a white picket fence around our yard. _

_ That life...it seems like so long ago now...it was so ordinary that it's almost not worth mentioning...until the day it changed forever. That day...both my parents died...and although I didn't know it at the time, my chances of having a normal life died with them..._

_ The police said that it was an accident. A little too much wine before they left the restaurant, a little too much speed as they went around the curve...it could have happened to anybody. Those were the exact words the officers used: "It could have happened to anybody." Two-thirds of my family, of my world...and all it took to end their lives was a few seconds. A few seconds for a thousand tiny factors to combine and coalesce...and in doing so, orphan my brother and me._

_ Amazingly enough, that wasn't the thing that broke me. I still don't know how, but somehow, I managed to come to terms with our parents' death without losing myself or going completely over the edge. Somehow...I got over it._

_ Rob, on the other hand...he never did. It was like...some part of him had tumbled into the grave along with their coffins, never to be seen again-and no matter what he did to assure me otherwise, it was obvious that he wasn't the same. _

_ Never would be the same._

_ He used to get so angry-and don't get me wrong; I was, too...but not like him. It was as though...he needed someone to blame for their deaths-and even though there was no one, he was still going to keep on raging until someone stepped forward and accepted responsibility. _

_ He never took it out on me-if anything, I think he would have rather put his fist through a wall than let me know just how furious he was all the time. For the most part, I didn't understand it; couldn't comprehend the terrifying rage bottled up inside of him...but then again, there was a lot about my older brother that I didn't understand._

_ Like how, about a month or so after the funeral, he started disappearing._

_ At first, there was nothing strange about his absences-he'd stay out all night, ducking back in sometime after dawn. But eventually, they began happening more and more regularly-and the hours stretched out into days, sometimes as much as a week. _

_ And the condition he'd come back in...in the beginning, it was just scrapes and bruises, but gradually-just like his absences-they got worse and worse; some mornings, he'd return home looking like someone had tried to beat him half to death. _

_ He never talked about it-and if I asked, he'd become even more reticent, so for a while, I tried to bury my head in the sand and pretend that whatever he was putting himself through was just part of the grieving process. But then, one afternoon, he disappeared...and didn't come back for almost two weeks. _

_ I remember I was sitting on the couch, pretending to watch cartoons, wondering if I should call the police to report him missing-when he walked through the door and sat down next to me, all the while acting like he'd done nothing more extreme than go to the grocery store to get milk. There was a cast on his arm and he was holding it all funny-I found out later that it had been broken in three places._

_ That was when I lost it._

_ I yelled at him; screamed in his face until I lost my voice. I told him that it wasn't fair, that he was selfish, that I had a life, too, and wasn't about to sit at home and worry whether he was going to wind up dead-all the usual blah blah blah. And the whole time, he just stared back at me; not speaking, not even moving. Eventually, I told him that I was through crying over him, and he could go to Hell as far as I was concerned. As soon as I said that, he stood up and walked out of the room._

_ That day...it was my breaking point...and I think Rob knew that just as well as I did. Either way, the next time he went out on one of his little "trips", I took some money and left. No note, no phone call-just hopped on a bus and never looked back. _

_ I could sit here and tell you that the reason I left home was because I was sick of agonizing over Rob; of worrying that he was going to do something stupid and get himself killed...but that would be a lie. In my heart, I think I always knew that whatever my brother was doing would eventually kill him. _

_ What scared me was the realization that whatever was killing him...was healing him at the same time._

_ The truth is...Rob didn't want acceptance...he wanted vengeance-and somehow, he had found some way to satisfy that need; to sate that hunger and in doing so, fill up the empty space inside his heart. That was why I left-because I realized that whatever he was doing, he needed it to survive...and though he'd never admit it, deep down, he loved it more than he loved me._

_ Because it did what I couldn't...it made the pain go away._

* * *

Mickie paused, pulling away from Dave and sitting up. The vampire started to ask why she had stopped, but then realized that the brunette had halted her story in order to retrieve something from the battered nightstand, pulling out the single drawer with a sharp protesting SQUEAK of warped wood. Reaching into its shallow crevice, she extracted a picture frame, the kind that folded like a book. Without speaking, she extended it toward Dave, staring off into space for a second before snuggling up against him once again.

The vampire slowly opened it up, studying the pair of photographs. The one on the left showed Mickie with a young man of similar age, her arms wrapped affectionately around his waist. There was no need to ask who it was; the family resemblance was obvious. Both of them were smiling...but Dave could still see a tightness around Rob's eyes, his mouth; the sort of stony indifference that results from unforgiving experience.

Staring at the image of Rob James, Dave felt the faintest tug of familiarity, as though he had encountered Mickie's older brother once before. He quickly pushed it aside, chalking it up to the physical similarity between the two siblings...but even as he did so, he could feel the subtle sensation of deja vu in the depths of his subconscious, like a itch that he couldn't quite scratch...bringing with it the vaguest hint of danger.

His gaze traveled down to the image of Mickie, and the vampire involuntarily felt his breath catch in his throat. Her brown eyes stared mildly back at him, and her full lips were parted, as though the photographer had said something particularly funny right before he had snapped the picture. But it was more than just her face, her smooth skin pristine and unblemished, that captivated him...although he had to admit, without the scars, Mickie was even more stunningly beautiful than he had thought.

No...it was an inner radiance that he could glimpse even from the grainy surface of a photograph; an internal fire of life and warmth and determination that seemed inextinguishable. And yet...in the span of time between now and when the photo was taken...something _had_ extinguished it. Someone had damaged her, inside and out, dousing the flame of life within her and leaving her cold, dark, and hollow.

Dave closed his eyes briefly. He understood now why Mickie kept the picture in a drawer-why would you want a constant reminder of everything that had been stolen from you? Slowly, he wrapped his free arm around her slender frame, leaning over and pressing his lips to her hair. "What happened to him?" he asked softly.

Mickie didn't answer at first, but the vampire felt her body tremble slightly as she took a deep breath. "He died...somewhere in Ohio, I think. I never found out _how_...or _why_...or even where his body's buried...but at the same time, I'm not surprised." She hesitated, a note of bitter humor creeping into her alto voice. "I mean, I knew shit about his life...it only makes sense that I would know shit about his death."

The brunette fell silent, and Dave took the opportunity to study the second photograph. This one also contained Mickie-still unscarred, still happy-only this time, she shared the frame with another young woman about her age. With dark hair, dark eyes, and a faintly exotic cast to her features, she was almost as striking as Mickie. The two girls were beaming, their cheeks pressed together in a way that suggested one of them was holding the camera at arms' length and snapping the picture themselves.

The question was out of his mouth before he could stop himself: "Who's she?"

At this, Mickie drew in a long shuddering breath, almost a sob-and once again, Dave hear the wordless howl of anguish within her rise in pitch and intensity, until it felt like an arctic wind was piercing his soul. When she eventually did speak, the brunette's voice was thick with emotion, each word enunciated with effort: "I once told you...that there were only two people in the world...that I trusted."

A pause. "One...was my brother." Another pause, longer this time. "The other...was Candice..."

* * *

_I met Candice the day I arrived here. I had just stepped off the bus, I didn't have a clue where to go-and then all of a sudden, she came up to me, introduced herself, and offered to buy me a cup of coffee. Two hours later, she suggested I stay at her apartment until I found my footing. Three days after that, she got me a job._

_ That was how it started-our friendship. Most people couldn't believe that such a close relationship had begun as easily as that; even we had a hard time grasping it sometimes. The closest I ever came to a reason why was that sometimes, you meet someone...and you just know that you can always trust them, and that they'll always have your back. _

_ That was the way it was with us-as far as Candice and I were concerned, we were sisters; we'd just had the misfortune of being born to different sets of parents. We always joked about moving to California and finding rich guys to marry, so we could live like the Real Housewives of Orange County and spend our days bitching about our nails. _

_ The next four years went by in a flash...but that's the way it always goes when you're happy, right? They say that nothing lasts forever...but that's not exactly true. What they really mean is...nothing GOOD lasts forever..._

* * *

Mickie stopped, pressing her face against the vampire's massive chest. "I suppose Randy already told you...I was a stripper." Her voice sounded dull, almost defeated. "But contrary to what he _probably_ implied-I was _never_ a whore. The only thing I did for money was take my clothes off...and every time I got on the pole, I was about as emotionally engaged as I would be doing a load of laundry."

Her voice abruptly dropped in volume, becoming so soft that Dave wasn't sure if she was still speaking to him...or merely to herself. "You never know it, do you-the day your life changes forever? It isn't until the very moment that it happens that you finally realize nothing will ever be the same after this. That's the way it was for me...although to be honest, I think I should have known something was wrong the moment Candice came back from the stage early..."

* * *

_The soft click of plastic beads stirred Mickie from her daydreaming, and the brunette looked up in surprise as Candice shoved aside the beaded curtains hanging across the dressing room entryway. _

_ Mickie set down her tube of lip gloss, spinning around on her stool to face her best friend. "That was fast," she remarked mildly. "What was your song-the Minute Waltz?"_

_ Candice shook her head, concentrating instead on plucking the few crumpled bills out of her G-string and smoothing them out between her fingers. "I couldn't get it together out there," she finally replied after a few moments. "As soon as I stepped out, my head started spinning-I thought I was going to throw up." Her dark eyes were fastened on the small sheaf of bills. "I tried to power through it, but then I caught my heel on the pole and almost fell off the stage."_

_ "Are you serious?" Mickie answered, her tone half-joking, half-incredulous. ""You-the same girl who once performed with an inflamed appendix? I don't believe it." She ran one hand through her golden-brown hair, finger-combing it back from her face. "There must be some really cute guys out there to be throwing you off your game-"_

_ Normally, the quip would have been enough to evoke a laugh and a self-depreciating smile from Candice, but the dark-haired girl did neither. Instead, she closed her fingers around the sheaf of bills, squeezing the paper currency in her fist. Her dark eyes remained fixed on an unseen point in space._

_ For the first time, Mickie noticed that, instead of her customary demeanor of sardonic exuberance, Candice seemed anxious, on-edge, and her normally pale complexion was a few shades whiter than normal. The brunette felt her teasing mood fade, replaced by one of sober concern. _

_ Rising from her stool and tugging her sheer robe further up onto her shoulders, Mickie headed over to her best friend, grasping her by the shoulders and peering into her face. "Candy? Are you all right?" Her tone was low and reassuring. "What's wrong?"_

_ Slowly, and with what seemed like the profoundest effort, Candice dragged her gaze from the floor to meet that of her best friend. As soon as she did, Mickie felt something inside her plummet. Candice looked more than uneasy; she looked scared-and that unnerved Mickie more than anything else...because in all the years she had known Candice, the dark-haired girl had always been fearless. NOTHING scared her._

_ Nothing...until now._

_ Candice was speaking, the words spilling out of her in a tentative rush. "You'll...you'll probably think I'm crazy-"_

_ Mickie cocked her head to the side. "Candy, after four years-I already KNOW you're crazy." This time, her comment brought a weak smile to her best friend's lips, which-while not ideal-was still better than nothing. "Come on; you know you can tell me anything."_

_ Candice didn't answer at first; only looked away, glancing toward the entrance to the stage, where the throbbing beats of the DJ's track and the drunken jeers of patrons could be heard. When she did speak, the words poured out of her almost too fast to be understood, her Midwestern accent-the last remnant of whatever life she'd left behind-more pronounced than ever: "There's something out there; I felt it as soon as I stepped out on stage. I don't know what it is; all I know is that it's bad, it's WRONG...and it was watching me."_

_ Mickie glanced toward the stage entrance as well, before focusing once again on her best friend. "Did you tell one of the guys? Mason, or Luke?"_

_ "Tell them WHAT?" Candice shot back, the faintest hint of her old personality creeping back into her voice. "That I have a bad feeling? I don't even know what's out there or why I know-only that there IS and I DO." She looked back at Mickie, her eyes so wide that a ring of white was visible around her dark irises. "Please, let's just go-"_

_ Mickie shook her head. "Can't; I'm up next-"_

_ "NO!" With surprisingly speed, Candice grabbed hold of Mickie's arms, so hard that the brunette could feel her friend's nails digging into her skin. Her countenance was panicked, bordering on hysterical, and Mickie felt another sliver of unease knife through her insides, harder and more acute this time. "Don't go out there, PLEASE! I don't want anything to happen to you-"_

_ "Nothing's going to happen to me," Mickie replied with a nonchalance she did not feel. "Mason's out there tonight-and I pity the poor bastard that tries to get past Mason. Besides, remember that last guy that tried to grab me? Remember how I broke his nose with my shoe?"_

_ Candice didn't answer; nor did she look any more convinced. Mickie leaned down a little, until they were almost nose-to-nose. "Look, get dressed, go outside, smoke a cigarette-as soon as I'm done, we'll hop in a cab, go home, and pig out on leftover Thai food? Okay?"_

_ "And __Gossip Girl__?" Candice interjected. Her voice was tentative, almost childlike. _

_ Mickie felt a smile slip across her face. THIS was the Candice she was used to. "And __Gossip Girl__," she repeated. _

_ Over the incessant pulse of the music came the enthusiastic roar of the DJ: "And next up to the stage-MICKIE!"_

_ The brunette rolled her eyes. "Shit," Shrugging her robe off, she tossed it onto the stool, dashing toward the doorway. "Wish me luck-hopefully this isn't the night I fall off the goddamn stage." _

_ As she pushed aside the hanging strands of beads, she heard Candice say: "See you-" before her voice was swallowed up by the deafening music._

_ She never saw the dark-haired girl again._

_ Alive...that is._

* * *

"Candice wasn't psychic or anything like that...but she had this knack of always seeming to know...when the shit was about to hit the fan." Mickie continued. "In that way...I should have realized that something was wrong the second I saw how scared she was...and I can't tell you how many times I've wondered how it would have played out if I hadn't insisted on dancing that night-if I had just listened to her and left right then and there..."

She stopped, and a long contemplative silence filled the room as both human and vampire pondered this possibility. Eventually, Mickie broke it, her voice both brittle and bitter. "Or maybe...it wouldn't have changed...anything at all."

The brunette went on, her tone both dull and relentless. "Either way...when I came back...she was gone. I assumed she was waiting outside, smoking a cigarette or something...but then I heard the noise-"

* * *

_Mickie froze. Though she couldn't be certain, she was sure that the sound-something halfway between a scream and a gurgle-had come from somewhere outside._

_ More than that...it had sounded suspiciously like a woman._

_ Tugging the t-shirt down over her head and freeing her golden-brown hair from the neck, the brunette moved toward the rear exit door at the back of the dressing room. "Candice?" _

_ Her voice was tentative, and barely audible over the din from the main area. Swallowing hard, Mickie reached out, her fingertips grazing the cool metal of the door handle. Almost immediately, she felt something surge up within her, some deeply-rooted reptilian survival instinct, roaring at her to GET AWAY, to GET BACK FROM THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW-_

_ For a heartbeat, Mickie almost obeyed. But in the next, she pushed it aside, emotion overtaking her instincts. Maybe there was something out there, something BAD...but Candice was out there, too-and she would be damned if she would let anything happen to her best friend. _

_ Taking a deep breath, the brunette pushed the door open._

_ Whoever had designed the building had not had a woman's safety in mind; the exit opened up in a dark secluded alley, and the only light was a single streetlamp about fifty yards from the door itself. All the girls at the strip jokingly referred to the area as "a rapist's wet dream"-for once, Mickie failed to find the analogy humorous._

_ She took a cautious step forward, the door swinging closed silently behind her. She could barely make out her surroundings in the almost smothering blackness, and focused instead on the single wide pool of light._

_ Something was lying in the center of it; Mickie's first thought was that someone had discarded a mannequin head. But as she moved closer, and the object swam into clearer focus, details leapt out at her-the ragged red strands of muscle and tissue at the edge of the neck, the viscous pool of blood soaking into the dark strands of hair-and then all at once, the full terrible realization of what she was looking at crashed over her like an icy wave, simultaneously freezing her mind with shock and stretching it to the breaking point._

_ Candice's dark eyes stared sightlessly back at hers. Her mouth moved-though whether it was a death reflex or merely a figment of Mickie's imagination, she was never sure-seeming to form only one word:_

_**Run...**_

_At this, Mickie finally screamed, the sound tearing out of her chest with such force that she thought her heart would explode. From the shadows just beyond the edges of the light, two sets of red eyes flicked upward, focusing on her-and in the midst of her panic, Mickie felt the reptilian instinct take hold of her once again, telling her that if she didn't start running RIGHT NOW, she would almost assuredly meet the same fate as her best friend-_

_ The brunette turned to flee, but barely made it two steps before she felt hot fetid breath on her neck, followed by powerful fingers clenching a handful of her hair, throwing her down to the ground, knocking the wind out of her._

_ Mickie barely had time to think: __**That's impossible; no one can move that fast-**__ before he was on top of her, straddling her body, pinning her to the ground, tearing open her shirt and exposing her naked upper body._

_ A voice, directly above her: "Well...what do we have here? What do you think, Mor?"_

_ A second voice, slightly more distant: "She's not as hot as the other one. Tits aren't as big, either."_

_ The first, sadistic enjoyment practically oozing off of every word: "That doesn't matter; I still think we could have some...fun...with her-don't you agree?"_

_ Mickie couldn't talk; her throat had completely locked up, making even the act of breathing a monumental struggle. With effort, she looked up, focusing all of her energy, all of her will, onto making out the features of her tormentors. _

_ It was difficult to distinguish anything in the nearly nonexistent light, but nevertheless, shock and astonishment rolled over Mickie once again as she realized that her captors were a pair of young men about her own age. Good-looking ones, at that. Guys that she would have flirted with in the confines of the strip club. _

_ And yet...they WEREN'T. Mickie could sense it, could feel it in the same way Candice had known something was wrong. These guys...they weren't normal...and they were going to kill her; she was almost certain of that fact._

_ Kill her...and enjoy it._

_ At though from a great distance, the brunette felt her lips move, felt her voice emerge as little more than a cracked pitiful whisper: "Please...don't..."_

_ The one on top of her raised his eyebrows, as though he found the very idea amusing. His lips pulled back from his teeth, exposing a pair of unnaturally sharp canines. "I love it when they beg," he remarked mildly._

_ Mickie felt a subtle snap inside her mind as some part of her sanity gave way, and she remembered thinking: __**This is insane; vampires don't exist-**__ And then all coherent thought vanished as his fangs sank into her breast._

_ It was as though someone had driven two white-hot nails into her skin. Mickie shrieked in pain and fear. Almost immediately, a fist crashed into her cheek, snapping her head sharply to the side, knocking her half-senseless, and filling her mouth with the coppery tang of blood. _

_ Through the fog of dizziness that engulfed her brain, she heard the first guy barking out instructions-"Hold her arms down!"-as he ripped her yoga pants and her underwear away from her body, forcing her legs apart. His hot breath washed over her face, reeking of death and blood and rotten meat. "Fight all you want to," _

_ He paused, and Mickie almost threw up as she felt the warm wetness of his tongue caress her cheek. "Maybe you'll even like it." _

_ With that, he clamped his hand over her mouth, stifling her frenzied screams as he thrust into her, violating her to the core-_

* * *

Mickie sucked in a breath, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "They raped me, over and over again-it felt like hours. Maybe it was. And every time I struggled, they bit me, scratched me...until all I could feel was the pain...and all I could smell was blood..._my_ blood."

She sniffed, pressing her knuckles against her mouth. "Finally...they stopped...and I thought that it was over...but then _she_ appeared-"

* * *

_At first, all Mickie heard was the soft click of high heels on pavement. With effort, she lifted her head up, trying to focus through the haze of pain and fear. Her vision was blurred with tears, but she could still make out a silhouette, definitely female, hands on hips as she surveyed the sickening tableau below her. _

_ A voice floated through the air, smoke and honey and filled with a kind of evil sweetness: "Are you boys done yet? This is starting to get a bit boring."_

_ The first one, the sadist: "Care to join in?"_

_ A pause, then the woman again: "Pull her up. I want to look at her."_

_ Mickie was vaguely aware of hands gripping her arms, pulling her to her knees and restraining her at the same time. Not that it was necessary-her limbs felt like they had been turned to water._

_ She felt a finger underneath her chin, the nail digging into her skin, forcing her head up. Mickie looked up...and found herself face-to-face with one of the beautiful women she had ever seen. She was approximately Mickie's age, with flawless features, perfect skin, but her eyes... They were large and dark, radiating an age and experience that her youth did not suggest, and utterly devoid of empathy._

_ And Mickie had no doubt that whatever soul this woman had was either long gone...or had never existed to begin with. _

_ The girl bent down, until she was almost level with Mickie, studying the brunette with a kind of detached fascination. "So pretty..." she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. Her dark eyes bore into Mickie's. "I hope my boys weren't too rough with you."_

_ Something about her voice, about the condescension and the glee in its tone, cut deeper and sharper than any of Mickie's other wounds did. Summoning up the last of her defiance, she sucked in a breath and spat in the other woman's face._

_ The bloody wad of saliva struck the girl on the cheekbone, oozing down the soft curve of her cheek. For a second, she stood there, blinking stupidly in surprise, before her perfect features warped with fury. "Oh, you BITCH!" she snarled. Bringing one slender hand up, she backhanded Mickie across the face._

_ The blow was so hard that it almost snapped her neck; even the two guys holding her were knocked back a step. Mickie sagged in their grip, nearly unconscious, but barely a second later, she heard the girl's enraged roar: "Pull her up! Pull that fucking cunt up!"_

_ Her rapists complied, pulling her back to her knees, forcing her head up. The girl reached out, touching Mickie's forehead, her fingernails resting lightly against her skin. Her dark eyes, black with rage, never left Mickie's. Her voice was clipped and cold, enunciating each syllable with terrifying preciseness: "I want this bitch to remember me."_

_ With that, she raked her nails down the brunette's face, slicing her skin open. The pain was instant and overwhelming. Mickie opened her mouth to scream, but there was no sound left; the only thing that emerged was a strangled croak. _

_ The grip on her arms loosened, and she slumped to the pavement in a limp heap, unable to move, unable to think, unable to do anything except endure the pain._

_ The last thing she remembered before sensation ceased was hearing one of her rapists' voices-the sadist-crowing: "Oooh! THAT's gonna leave a mark!"..._

* * *

"I should have died there...but I didn't...and to this day, I still don't understand why. All I know is that somehow, I found just enough strength to make it to my feet, and then just enough strength to start walking."

"I didn't know where I was going...or even if I was going to live-all I knew was that I didn't want to die in that alley..."

* * *

_Mickie staggered, grabbing onto a nearby brick wall for support, forcing herself to keep her balance despite the sparkling black swimming at the edges of her vision._

_ The streets were deserted; so far, she had yet to see so much as a passing car. It was as though her tormentors, determined that she should die along, had taken the time to rid the city of its remaining human occupants._

_ Or maybe...she was already dead. Maybe her body was still back in that alley and she was wandering through a kind of limbo as a ghost. _

_ She would have accepted that theory...if not for the pain. She could feel it in every step she took, and as unbearable as it was, there was a sort of comfort in its presence...because it meant that she was still alive._

_ Up ahead of her, Mickie caught a flicker of movement, a shadow flitting across a patch of light. The light was coming from a bar less than a hundred feet away...which meant that someone was inside._

_ Slowly, reeling with every step, focusing only on taking the next one, she moved toward the light. It was indeed a bar, and she could make out two figures inside. One was behind the bar, washing glasses, while the other was sweeping the scuffed wooden floor. _

_ Mickie pushed on the door; it refused to budge. Locked. She raised her fist to knock on the glass, but her strength abruptly left her, and her knuckles merely grazed the smooth surface. Gritting her teeth, she tried again, and this time, succeeded in producing a soft tapping sound._

_ The one sweeping-a young man with dark hair-glanced up, an irritated expression on his feet. "We're closed," he called out, the closed door muffling his voice._

_ In desperation, Mickie pounded her palm flat against the glass. "PLEASE," she pleaded, trying to force as much volume into her voice as she could. "PLEASE let me in," _

_ The young man glanced her way...then did a double take as he saw the bloody handprint her palm had left on the glass. The annoyance drained away immediately, leaving behind only shock and concern. He dashed toward the door, fumbling with the lock momentarily before unbolting it and throwing it open._

_ As soon as he did, Mickie collapsed into his arms. Her legs buckled behind her, and she sank to the floor, almost pulling him down with her. _

_ She could hear voices, as though from a long way away:_

_ "Holy shit-Ted! TED!"_

_ "What the fuck-HOLY FUCKING SHIT! Look at the blood-"_

_ "Get Randy-tell him to call 911-"_

_ Mickie blinked, her eyes dazzled by the pale radiance of the fluorescent bulbs. She could see the face of her savior above her, a corona of light spilling over the top of his head like a halo. He was talking to her now: "-just hang on, okay! We're gonna get help; you're gonna be fine-"_

_ She felt his hands pressing against her throat-no doubt to stop the bleeding. The brunette licked her lips, her mouth suddenly as dry as sandpaper. "Please," she whispered, her voice already fading off into silence. "Please...I don't want to die..."_

_ And then...there was only darkness._

* * *

With a low cry, Mickie burst into tears, covering her face with both hands as she sobbed. "They took..._everything_...from me! My best friend, my face, my _life_-and after it was all over, they didn't even have the _decency_ to _kill_ me!"

She pulled her hands away, gesturing at her scarred face. "For the last _three years_, _this_ is what I see when I look in the mirror! And every _second_, I can feel myself becoming less human and more _them_...and I hate it. I want to die-I'd rather be dead than spend eternity with this pain! But I _can't_..." Her voice broke again. "..because I'm too _weak_-I'm too weak to even end my own life-"

"No, you're not," Dave's voice was rough and thick with emotion. "You're not weak." Grabbing her face, he pulled her to him, staring into her eyes. "If you were weak, you never would have survived. Do you understand?"

The vampire leaned close, wrapping his arms around her, touching his forehead to hers, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. "I can feel what you feel-when _you_ hurt, _I _hurt. And no matter what happens after this...I _promise_...no one will ever hurt you again."

"Well, now...isn't that touching?"

The couple turned at the sound...and immediately froze as Miz strolled into the room, followed by Morrison.


	17. Chapter 17: Welcome To The Fallout: Pt 1

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! You'll notice that this chapter is labeled "Part 1". That's because, while writing it, I made an executive decision, and chopped Chapter 16 in half-the next chapter will be labeled "Part 2". The reason for THIS is: just getting the words down took an enormous amount out of me, because of all the action and emotional intensity. I knew I wasn't going to be able to get it all out in one sitting, so I decided to split it up. Hopefully, y'all won't hate me too much. I still love you guys, but my brain needed a little break. Don't worry, though; the conclusion of this chapter will come in Part 2. Until then...ENJOY! PEACE!**

**Thank you to **Esha Napoleon, AprilGilbert1996, BigRedMachineUK, XxxDarkCloudxxX, M Cuevas, Girl on Fire, mindyfan24, SLSheartsRKO, **and **nikki1335 **for all your wonderful encouraging reviews! You know that I love you ALL! *big hugs***

* * *

Chapter 16: Welcome To The Fallout: Part 1

"_Do you remember me/You can't see the things/That make me who I am/You'll never understand..."-__-Fozzy, "Enemy"_

"I have to admit, Dave-you managed to surprise me," the mohawked vampire continued, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the water-stained wall. "Of all the places I imagined we'd find you, I never would have guessed that you'd be slumming it in a shithole like this. Not only that...but with a _human_."

His gaze shifted slightly, focusing on a point just beyond Dave's shoulder, the corners of his mouth twisting upward in a malicious smile. "A _damaged human_."

Dave immediately sat up, instinctively shielding Mickie behind his own massive frame. He could feel her pressed tightly against him, her fingertips digging into his back, her breath caressing his neck in hot, frantic pants...but above all, the wordless wail of her fear, like the panicked squeaks of a mouse caught in a trap.

The vampire swallowed hard. He didn't blame her; the appearance of Melina's "pets" had filled him with more than a little unease. Individually, Miz and Morrison were no match for him strength or size-wise, but _together_...that was a different story entirely. Right now, they had him at a distinct disadvantage, and even if he did somehow manage to gain the upper hand...there was still Mickie and her safety to consider.

Dave didn't really care about what happened to him...but he knew with an absolute certainty that he would die before he would let either one of those assholes put their hands on her.

By now, Morrison had taken up position against the door jamb, adopting a posture similar to Miz, eying the pair with a sort of bland inscrutability. His partner's blue eyes narrowed slightly, focusing on Dave once again, a note of smarmy amusement creeping into his voice: "What's the matter? We catch you at a bad time? You need a few minutes to put on a pair of pants or something?" His sneer widened. "Don't worry-_we won't peek._"

"What are you doing here?" Dave's tone was low and terse. He tilted his chin up a fraction, hoping that his countenance was betraying none of the anxiousness pricking his insides.

At this, the other two vampires exchanged a look-part incredulity, part mocking-as though the answer was obvious. Morrison, surprisingly, was the one to speak, nodding back toward the room behind him. "I don't know if you've noticed, Dave...but the door to this place is off its hinges and lying on the floor-"

"_You know what I mean_," the big man interrupted harshly, his voice practically a growl. Even though the retort was directed at Morrison, his gaze never wavered from Miz. "_Why...are...you...here_?"

Miz snickered, flicking the brim of his fedora and pushing it back a little on his head. "Really, Dave-I thought that would be obvious...we're here for _you_."

"You _really_ fucked up this time, dude," Morrison added, his blank expression never wavering as he spoke. "You pissed her off...and if there's one thing that we _all_ understand about Mel...it's that you _never_ piss her off."

Dave's gaze moved cautiously from one to the other. His huge frame was tensed, prepared to react at the first faint flicker of movement. "How'd you find me?" he asked, his tone equally wary.

Miz shrugged, nonchalantly examining his fingernails. "Some guy named Randy." At the mention of the Viper's Pit owner, Dave felt Mickie freeze, heard the air escape her lungs in a strangled gasp. The mohawked vampire went on. "Doesn't think too highly of _you_, though."

He looked up, his blue irises boring into Dave's dark ones with an unsettling predatory intensity. "Apparently, you took something without asking-or, should I say...some_one_." Once again, his gaze shifted, focusing on an unseen point in space. His lip curled, revealing the tip of one whitened fang. "I take it _this_ is Mickie."

Behind him, Dave heard Mickie whimper, the sound low and pitiful. Terror and panic was radiating from her in waves, the sensation of it almost suffocating, but the big man forced himself to ignore it; to block it out and concentrate on the scenario unfolding in front of him.

If he hoped to gain any sort of advantage in this confrontation, he would have to keep his head clear-and as much as he empathized with Mickie and wanted to comfort her, he could not afford to let her emotions overwhelm him.

Instead, Dave lowered his head a little, glaring at the other two vampires with cold animosity. His muscles were coiled, wound as tight as a spring, like a jungle cat preparing to pounce...or a bull about to charge. He spat his words out, as though the syllables themselves contained a foul taste: "I'm only going to tell you this once: _get out_."

For one long agonizing second, there was nothing...and then Miz burst out laughing, the sound filling the small space, harsh and terrible and ringing with more than just a little madness. Still cackling, the mohawked vampire abruptly pushed himself up off the wall, stepping forward, and Dave had to force himself not to shrink back involuntarily; to meet the other vampire's gaze without flinching.

"You really don't get it, do you, _Davey-boy_?" Miz's tone was light, almost conversational...but at the same time, it hinted at things that were unspeakable; at long-buried deeds and thoughts that were better left hidden out of sight. "See...Mel _told_ us to bring you back...and that's exactly what we plan on doing. What _condition_ we bring you back in is entirely up to _you_-Mel's only requirement was _alive. _Personally, though-"

The mohawked vampire leaned down, cocking his head to the side as he studied the big man. The smirk was gone; all that remained was ugly, absolute hatred. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, as though this was merely a conversation between the two of them. "Personally...I _hope_ you struggle. I'm _praying_ that you put up a fight-because I've been waiting the last _three years_ to knock you down a peg. What Mel sees in you is _beyond _me: you don't kill, yet you walk around acting like you're somehow _better_ than us...and after everything she's done for you, you leave her for some worthless junkie _whore_."

As soon as the derogatory epithet left Miz's lips, it took every ounce of self-restraint Dave possessed not to lunge at the mohawked vampire and tear his throat open. Instead, he clenched his teeth, a tiny muscle in his jaw throbbing with the effort. "Well, then," he gradually replied, his voice just as tight and controlled as his expression. "I'm glad it's not up to you...and that you're such a _good little boy_ who follows orders."

At this, Miz visibly flinched, his blue eyes flashing with involuntary anger, and Dave felt a small thrill course through him. The mohawked vampire might have been the more vicious of the pair...but he was also more irrational than his counterpart; more easily provoked. Even though Miz was totally devoted to Melina, he would never go so far as to admit he was actually her _bitch_-his pride wouldn't allow it.

If Dave could keep goading him in this vein, he might be able to knock the other vampire off-balance...and in doing so, force him to make a mistake.

The mohawked vampire quickly recovered his composure, smirking...but the sneer couldn't quite mask the perturbed indignation lurking in the depths of his gaze. "_You're_ one to talk. How many times have you left before...and how many times have you come crawling back to her on your _knees_? Admit it, Dave: it doesn't matter how _tough_ you act...because deep down...you're completely _pussy-whipped_."

Dave met his gaze levelly. "Looks like I'm not the only one."

Across the room, he heard Morrison utter a choked chuffing sound, as though he was trying to swallow his laughter. Miz's features twisted with fury, and he pulled back suddenly, turning around and slamming his fist into the wall. His knuckles sank a good inch or two into the painted plaster, and when he pulled his hand free, the jagged imprint of his fist remained.

The mohawked vampire whipped around, tearing off his fedora and throwing it onto the floor. His features twitched, the need to remain rational and the desire to tear Dave limb from limb fighting for dominance on his face. His voice, when he spoke, oozed with rage. "You think you're funny, don't you?" He strode toward the bed, his hands clenched into fists. "Just for that, we should break every bone in your fucking body-and then make you _watch_ while we show your _girlfriend _here a good time."

Miz paused long enough to crack his neck back and forth, his eyes never leaving Dave's. "If she's willing to fuck _you_, then she _must _like it rough-"

"Just like _you_ do, right?"

Everyone-Dave included-froze as Mickie's voice floated up from behind him. The big man felt surprise flood through him; the last thing he would have anticipated was Mickie actually _speaking_-let alone standing up to someone as nasty and obviously insane as Miz.

And her _voice_...there was bitterness in it, sure...but there was also anger, confidence, authority-and something that was very much like challenge; as though she was saying: _Oh REALLY? I'd like to see you try..._

Dave didn't turn to look at Mickie, didn't _dare_-but he could feel these emotions emanating from her like a rush of psychic heat...and in the background, something _else_...something which, in itself, wasn't quite right.

Something almost like..._recognition_.

The brunette went on, and even though Dave couldn't see her face, he _knew_ that she was staring directly at Miz. "Isn't that what you told me? To fight all I wanted to? That maybe...I'd even like it?"

Miz, meanwhile, was so stunned by Mickie's retort that he was left completely speechless-a condition which did not strike the mohawked vampire often. Watching him stand there, his mouth hanging open, his eyes bulging in shock-Dave was only sorry he didn't have a camera to record the occasion.

The brunette's final accusation, however, must have broken through Miz's astonished trance, because he flinched a little, his features rearranging themselves into a portrait of genuinely clueless confusion. His mouth moved, struggling to form words. "W-_what_?" he managed to sputter. "What are you _talking_-"

"_Shut up_!" Mickie screamed, and Miz-amazingly-obeyed. Dave could hear her tone rising in pitch and intensity, the sound of it raw and harsh with emotion. "Did you even _know_ my _name_? Did you even know my _friend's _name...or did you just tear her apart?"

Miz looked at Dave, his countenance almost helpless, as though he had no idea how to deal with the shrieking young woman across the room. "Dave, is this bitch completely out of her mind-"

Dave wasn't listening, though; too many thoughts, ideas, _realizations_ were swirling around his head, making outside stimuli almost irrelevant. All he could hear was Mickie's voice, intermixed with his own scattered ruminations...

_"They raped me, over and over again-it felt like hours..."_

_**There were two of them...young men...vampires...**_

_"They stopped...and I thought that it was over...but then she appeared..."_

_**There was a girl with them...they raped Mickie, bit her, nearly ripped her apart, while she just sat and watched...**_

_"For the last three years, THIS is what I see when I look in the mirror..."_

_**Three years ago...the same time Melina showed up with Morrison and Miz in tow...**_

And then, with a nearly audible CLICK, it all became clear...and he wondered how he had never realized it until now.

Dave felt all the air leave his body, as though he had been punched violently in the stomach. Slowly, he looked up at Miz, and when he finally regained the ability to speak, his voice was filled with horror and awe:

"Oh my God...it was _you._"

The mohawked vampire glared back at him, opened his mouth to speak...and then all hell broke loose.

* * *

Dave had completely forgotten about the gun; he didn't know how Mickie had managed to get ahold of it without anyone noticing...but he was brutally reminded of its presence as the brunette swung her arm over his shoulder, aimed the revolver at the mohawked vampire, and pulled the trigger.

The sound of the shot was deafening-for a few seconds, all Dave could hear was a high-pitched ringing, accompanied by a sharp stabbing pain on the side of his head. His vision swam, darkened to black...but the big man gritted his teeth and forced it back; willing himself to remain alert despite the overwhelming sensation of agonizing vertigo.

Shaking his head rapidly, Dave shoved the covers aside, rising to his knees and raising his head. The first thing he saw was Miz, bent over, both hands pressed against his cheek, blood streaming through his fingers and down over his chin as he wailed in pain.

In spite of the situation, the big man couldn't keep himself from smiling. So Miz had been quick enough to keep his brains from being splattered on the wall behind him...but not quick enough to avoid the bullet altogether.

As though he could somehow sense Dave's amusement at his misfortune, the mohawked vampire's head shot up, and he pulled his hands away. The left side of his face was a mess of smeared blood and ragged raw flesh; from the best that Dave could ascertain, the bullet had torn out a large portion of his cheek. The edges of the wound were still scorched and smoking from which the silver had made contact with his skin, and Dave thought he could see the movement of Miz's tongue and teeth behind the thin membrane of sinew and tissue that still remained intact.

The mohawked vampire's lips moved, but the big man couldn't make out what he was saying; his ears were still ringing. Then, all at once, that evaporated and sound rushed back in, bringing with it Miz's furious scream: "-forget what Randy said! Just for that-_you're DEAD, bitch_!"

He lunged toward the bed, fangs bared, hands outstretched, fingers curved into claws...and with a roar, Dave rose to his full height, drawing back his fist and punching the mohawked vampire in the face.

The blow broke Miz's nose with a sickening crunch of cartilage, sending him flying backward. His back connected with the wall, but the vampire kept going, sailing through wood and plaster and leaving a jagged hole in his wake. He hit the kitchen floor, sliding until the top of his head slammed into the far side of the apartment, ending his momentum.

Dave didn't have time to admire his handiwork; out of the corner of his eye, he could already see Morrison vaulting toward him, his handsome features warped in a mask of pure rage. The big man turned slightly, and launched his massive frame off the bed toward the other vampire, catching Morrison by the throat and sending them both hurtling back down to the floor.

His knees and feet collided painfully with the rough wooden floor; the back of Morrison's head made contact with an ugly CRACK-Dave hoped sincerely that the fucker had fractured his skull.

There was a flicker of movement at the edges of his vision. Glancing over, Dave saw that Miz was stirring, one hand groping along the contour of the wall for purchase, his face creased with pain and disorientation as he struggled to sit up.

The big man looked back at Morrison. The other vampire was equally out of it, groaning and barely conscious. His aviator glasses had cracked, and the eyes behind them had rolled back into their sockets, revealing a sliver of white beneath the nearly-closed lids.

Dave didn't stop to think; there was no time to. Without releasing his grip on Morrison's throat, he stood, dragging the other vampire forcibly up onto his feet. Looking around, his gaze lighted on the single window, curtains drawn across its grimy surface.

The big man stared at it for several seconds, then slowly turned his focus back to Morrison. His mouth curved up in a humorless grin.

"Let's see if you fuckers know how to fly..."

* * *

Jeff jumped as the body crashed through the window, hurtling down toward the pavement along with a shower of glass fragments. The rainbow-haired man watched, almost dumbstruck with surprise and shock, as the body descended, down, down...

At the very second, the person stirred, twisting his body around and landing lightly on the street below with the same effortless agility of a cat. Jeff's green eyes narrowed, and he instinctively reached for his weapon, snapping off the safety as he drew it from the holster. However, before he could bring it up, the vamp was already running away, his movements too fast for even Jeff to track.

The rainbow-haired man let out a low sigh of frustration, and was about to re-holster his gun...when his emerald irises happened to light on the window the bloodsucker had just did a Peter Pan out of.

Immediately, he felt his heart plummet into his stomach. He knew exactly who lived in that apartment; he had been watching it nightly for almost three months.

_A bloodsucker...in Mickie's apartment..._

Jeff fumbled for his Bluetooth earpiece, his normally quick fingers feeling clumsy and slow. "Mayday, mayday-" He paused as he scrambled to remember what came next. There was a code for something like this; a clinically precise sequence of words that would somehow sum up the exact situation he was facing.

But Jeff didn't say it. Panic had stricken him, leaving him at a loss for words, and so instead, he simply bawled out the first phrase that popped into his head, nearly biting his tongue in the process:

"_Someone get over here NOW! Shit is hitting the fucking fan_!"

Instantly, the earpiece squawked, followed by his leader's voice: "I'm a block away-I'll be there in thirty seconds."

Jeff started to ask why Cena was a block away when he was supposed to be patrolling the other side of town, but the other Hunter had already signed off-and truthfully, the rainbow-haired man didn't much care.

For once, he was grateful for his boss's lack of faith in everyone else.

* * *

Miz squirmed backward, his feet desperately seeking traction on the scuffed linoleum floor as Dave advanced toward him. "You're fucking dead, dude!" the mohawked vampire cried, his voice thick and distorted, the defiance in his tone almost swallowed up by fear and panic. "Once Mel hears about this, she'll skin you alive-"

His words were reduced to muffled noises as Dave clamped one hand over his mouth, silencing him. "We'll see about that," the big man whispered. He dug his thumb into the open wound in Miz's cheek, savoring the shrill reedy yelp of pain from the mohawked vampire. "But in the meantime...I want you to give her a message for me."

Dave stood, dragging Miz up with him, his hand still pressed against the other vampire's mouth. "If _you_, _her_, or your little butt-buddy _ever_ go _anywhere_ near Mickie again...I'll kill you. Understand?"

Miz said nothing; merely stared back at him, his blue eyes glazed with pain and hatred. Dave pushed his thumb even deeper into the wound. "_Understand_?" Miz quickly bobbed his head up and down in a nod, a mewling sound emanating from his throat. The big man regarded him a moment longer, then abruptly released his grip. "Good. Now get the _fuck_ out."

A few seconds ticked by, as Miz gradually grasped that he was going to be permitted to walk out in one piece. Massaging his jaw with one hand, he stared sullenly at Dave for a heartbeat before turning his back. He took one step toward the door. Two.

All of a sudden, he felt Dave's fingers closed around the collar of his shirt. "Too slow." the big man spat, and lifting the mohawked vampire bodily off his feet, he charged into the bedroom, tossing Miz out the window in very much the same manner as his counterpart.

Dave watched as the other vampire sailed toward the ground. Just like Morrison, Miz managed to twist himself around-but not before landing awkwardly on his ankle. Even from this distance, Dave could still hear the sharp snap of bone, followed by Miz's howl of agony, and the expletives that accompanied it.

Making his way back to his feet with obvious effort, the mohawked vampire hopped unsteadily on his good foot, taking the extra moment to flip the big man off before hobbling off into the darkness.

As soon as Miz vanished from sight, Dave felt the adrenaline, the predator instinct to fight and kill, drain away-replaced by only one thought:

_Mickie...oh my God...MICKIE-_

His thoughts screeched to an abrupt halt as the muzzle of the gun dug into the base of his skull, followed soon after by the low icy cadence of Mickie's voice.

"Who..._are_...you?"


	18. Chapter 18: Welcome To The Fallout: Pt 2

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I want to thank everyone for bearing with me on this whole Part 1 & 2 decision. This one was also a real challenge; right now, I just feel completely drained. Without giving too much away...just remember that the story's not over yet. With that in mind...ENJOY! PEACE!**

**Thank you to **nikki1335, SLSheartsRKO, AprilGilbert1996, XxxDarkCloudxxX, Esha Napoleon, M Cuevas, Girl on Fire, **and **BigRedMachineUK **for reviewing! I love you ALL! *hugs all around***

* * *

Chapter 17: Welcome To The Fallout: Part 2

"_A simple mistake starts the hardest time..." - Snow Patrol, "Chocolate"_

"Who _are_ you?" Mickie repeated through gritted teeth, pressing the mouth of the gun even tighter against the vampire's skull. "Who are _they_-and why were they looking for you?"

Dave swallowed hard, trying to ignore the weapon as the sharp metal edge of the muzzle dug into his skin; trying not to think about the lethal molded lumps of silver lurking within its chambers. "Mickie-"

"And don't _lie_ to me!" the brunette interjected, panic briefly bleeding into her voice and sending its pitch ratcheting up an octave. Dave tried to peer at her out of the corner of his eye, but all he could see was a faint suggestion of movement and a flash of golden-brown hair. "They _knew_ you! They called you by _name_-they came here looking for _you_!"

Her tone was dull and clipped, spitting out each word with brutal preciseness: "_Who were they...and why were they here_?"

The vampire started to raise his hands in surrender, but stopped himself. The panic in Mickie's voice was bordering on hysteria...and the slightest movement, no matter how innocuous, might provide just enough incentive to allow her to squeeze the trigger. So instead, he stared straight ahead through the broken window, focusing on the skyline in the distance. "Their names are Miz and Morrison... and I guess the best way to describe them would be to say that...they're _her_ 'pets'."

"_Her_?" Mickie echoed sarcastically. "You mean your _girlfriend_? '_Mel_'?"

Dave allowed himself a cautious nod; a slight dip of his chin. "Melina." His voice was flat, as though every drop of affection or desire he still possessed for his sire had finally been wrung from him. His gaze remained locked on the cityscape; the relentless glow of the electric light had tinged the sky above a dull sooty orange. "When I left last night...to find you...she tried to stop me, and I...I threw her against a wall."

The vampire chuckled, but there was no real humor in the sound. "It must have scared her...up until now, she's always been the one in control...so she must have sent those two to bring me back so she could deal with me herself-"

"And in the process, you led them right to my door." Mickie cut in bitterly. To this, Dave said nothing-any further response on this point would have been useless.

For several long moments, neither one of them said anything. Eventually, the vampire spoke, his voice soft, gentle, almost tentative: "I didn't know; I _swear_...I had _no idea _that they were the ones who..." The pressure of the gun didn't dissipate, and his words gradually trailed off into nothingness-leaving the thought unspoken, but still implied; dangling in the air between them like an unwanted third presence.

There was a long silence as Mickie mulled over this. Dave didn't dare attempt to read her thoughts; he was too afraid she'd sense his intrusion into her head, and use it as an excuse to blow his brains out. Finally, though, the brunette spoke, her voice oozing with scornful incredulity: "And you _really _expect me...to _believe _that?"

Dave immediately felt his insides pulse with the first hot throb of true unease. "Mickie-" he ventured hesitantly.

"_Shut up_!" Mickie screamed, cutting him off. The muzzle dug into his head even harder, and Dave's heart almost stopped in pure animalistic terror. "You honestly think that I'd be _stupid_ enough to believe that this is all just some _random coincidence_? That this whole time, you never knew that your _girlfriend_ and her little _boytoys_ also just _happened_ to be the same bloodsuckers that destroyed my _life_?"

An accusatory note crept into her voice, and Dave thought he could almost catch the faint sound of her shaking her head. "For all I know, you _lied_ to me from the beginning. For _all I know_, you _told _them where to find me-"

"_No_!" Indignant anger surged through Dave, rapid and white-hot, and before he knew what he was doing, he had spun around to face Mickie, the gun rendered inconsequential in the heat of his emotions.

The brunette took an involuntary step back, uncertainty momentarily flitting across her scarred face. During the melee, she had grabbed one of the bedsheets, and had wrapped around her slender frame like a makeshift dress, holding it closed at her breasts with her free hand. Her golden-brown hair tumbled down over her shoulders in bright waves. She didn't lower the gun, however, and soon after, the doubt evaporated from her expression, leaving behind outrage, mistrust...and betrayal.

The vampire barely registered all of this, however; the words were pouring out of him at a nearly intelligible rate: "It's not _like_ that! It was _never_ like that!" He took a step toward Mickie; she instantly moved back, maintaining the same amount of distance between them. "I _know _that I have no right to expect you to believe or accept _anything_ that I say...but do you even _know_ how much I risked coming here tonight?"

Dave slowly shook his head. "If I go back there, I'm dead. Do you understand that? Even if I _apologize_...I'm fucking _dead_. Melina'll kill me just for ruining her evening-and those two would do it with or without her permission." He took another step, and once again, Mickie took one in reverse, mirroring his movements, never once lowering the gun or taking her eyes from his.

The vampire let his breath out in a low resigned sigh. "You don't know...how _many_ times...I wanted to do the same thing that you just did; how many times I just wanted to rip their heads off and be done with it. And I can't tell you how many times...she stopped me, or talked me out of it...or how many times I stopped _myself_...because I just didn't want the trouble..."

For what seemed like an eternity, there was nothing. Then, Mickie stirred, lowering the gun just a fraction as she stared warily at the big man, her voice soft and almost wistful as she spoke: "When I opened my eyes last night, and saw you looking down at me...I finally believed, _truly believed_...that you were different; that you really _were_ nothing like all the other bloodsuckers. But now..."

The brunette shook her head, and Dave felt his internal thermometer plummet with fear. "Now...I realize...that you're just as bad as they are."

The vampire immediately moved forward, both arms outstretched, words spilling out of him in a rush: "Mickie, I'm _nothing_ like them-"

"Yes, you _are_!" Mickie held up the gun, aiming it at his face and stopping him dead in his tracks. "Don't you get it? You're the _worst kind_ of monster. Even if you're telling the truth; even if you didn't know about _me_...you still knew about _them_." Though she didn't elaborate further, Dave knew that she was referring to Melina, Miz, and Morrison.

The brunette went on, her voice barely more than a whisper, but as hard and immovable as steel. "You _knew_ what they were like; what they were _capable_ of. You could have stopped them...but you didn't." She stared up at Dave, her countenance both accusing and heartbreaking. "How many _other_ girls are out there, like me or Candice-_dead or damaged_-because you couldn't be _bothered_ to get involved?"

She took another step back, still holding up the gun like a barrier between them. "How many other _lives _did you let be _destroyed_...all because you couldn't _bring yourself_ to pull your head out of the fucking sand?" Mickie paused, tears pooling in her eyes, gathering at the edges of her lower lashes. "What...what if you had never met _me_? What if you had never known about what they _did_ to me? What if you never found out that while they were _raping_ me, your _bitch_ girlfriend _sat and watched, and laughed_-like the whole thing was a goddamn _play_."

The brunette blinked. The motion caused tears to roll down her face, but she took no notice of them. "Would you even _be _here right now...or would you still be back there with _her_, fucking her 'til she screams, all the while telling yourself that you're _better_ than them...when in truth, you're even _more_ of a coward than _I _am." She stopped, her temporary eloquence apparently exhausted.

A minute crawled by. Then another. Dave couldn't speak; his mind was blank, as though whatever higher power existed had reached down and snatched every word, every _syllable_, from his brain. So much of what Mickie had said had been wrong; borne out of the irrationality of panic and terror at seeing her tormentors once again...but at the same time, so much of it had been _right_.

She was right; he _was_ a monster. Maybe he didn't kill, maybe he didn't inflict pain for sheer amusement...but he had never tried to stop those that _did_. He had always known that Miz and Morrison were sadists...just as he had known that Melina was a cruel, calculating bitch totally devoid of compassion.

And what had he done to stop it? Nothing. Instead, he had looked away, pretending that it didn't exist, telling himself that it was none of his business.

Well, now, it had _become_ his business. By choosing Mickie, by opening attacking his sire's "pets", he had chosen a side; had crossed a line that would forever separate him from his vampire family.

_You never know it, do you...the day your life changes forever? It isn't until the very moment that it happens that you finally realize nothing will ever be the same after this..._

Now...there was no going back.

The vampire closed his eyes for a moment or two. When he opened them again, his dark irises were calm, lucid. Slowly, deliberately, he took a step toward Mickie, his gaze boring into hers. His tone was low, terse, unapologetic: "I'm a vampire. I drink blood, I live in the shadows-I look like a man, but I have to hunt and _feed_ to survive-"

"Is this your version of an excuse?" Mickie interrupted fiercely, but despite her tone, she did not retreat this time.

Dave's expression didn't falter, and he slowly shook his head. "No...there's no excuse. Not for what they did to you...or what _I _did by not stopping them." Another step. "All I am is a beast that won't kill. In a world of black and white, I live in a gray area...just like you." At the mention of her, Mickie flinched a little, but still did not move away. "We don't belong anywhere...the gray areas are the only places where we can exist; where we can _survive_."

The vampire took yet another step forward. He could feel the muzzle of the gun pressing lightly against his chest, but he felt no fear this time. All of his attention was focused on Mickie; on those large brown eyes of hers full of anger and doubt and bitterness. "Mickie...I'm asking you to do something you have no reason to do." He paused, laying particular emphasis on his next words: "I'm asking you to trust me."

At this, Mickie gasped; a small strangled sound that lodged in her throat. The vampire continued, his tone softening, dropping to a whisper: "_Trust _me..._believe_ me...and know that when I told you I loved you..._I meant it_."

At first, there was nothing-no response, no reaction-then Mickie's gun arm abruptly sagged, falling back down to her side. She stepped toward Dave, closing the distance between them. Hesitantly, the vampire reached up, caressed her face-and almost immediately, the brunette's features relaxed as she leaned into his touch, his name escaping her lips as little more than a contented sigh: "_Dave..._"

He never remembered hearing the shot; only feeling the bullet slam into the meat of his shoulder, tearing through skin, tissue, and muscle, and leaving indescribable agony in its wake.

Dave dropped to his knees, the strength draining from him as quickly and relentlessly as air leaking from a punctured balloon. Instinctively, he clapped his hand over the wound; his skin was already wet and slick with blood. Dave blinked stupidly, his vision starting to swim. A bright veneer of pain had clamped down over his senses, making everything brighter, sharper, and almost too unreal to be reality.

Mickie screamed, the sound dying in her throat almost instantly as two figures strode into the room. Dave looked up as well, forcing himself with what little stamina he still possessed to _focus_.

The first thing he saw was the gun-a Desert Eagle .44, with the familiar message _REGRET NOTHING..._ etched along its barrel, aiming in his direction. Lifting his gaze up, the second thing he saw was its owner's blue eyes staring unflinchingly back at him...accompanied by an even more familiar voice:

"Hello, _Dave_."

* * *

In spite of the pain, the vampire forced a smile onto his face; a sardonic humorless grin reserved solely for his nemesis. "Cena...didn't know you were back in town." His normally deep voice was a quavering croak, and his words were almost swallowed up in a fit of coughing, the spasms sending waves of discomfort across the right side of his chest.

The leader of the Hunter pack stared down at him with pity, the corners of his mouth twitching and almost forming a smile. "Next time, I'll send flowers." His not-quite-grin vanished just as rapidly as it had emerged. "Of course...there won't exactly _be _a next time for you...will there?"

Normally, this comment would have been little more than an empty threat; after all, for as long as Hunters had been after Dave, they had been after Melina even longer, and had always viewed him as a means to an end, a weakness to exploit and lure her out of hiding. But there was something different in Cena's voice this time-something which seemed to suggest he was going to follow through on his threat whether the vampire gave him information or not.

For a moment, Cena's gaze flickered to the side, lingered on Mickie, before locking on Dave once again. "Looks like you finally went after the wrong girl...not that there's ever a _right_ girl whenever _you're_ involved."

Through the stupor of pain that was fast depleting his awareness, Dave heard Mickie gulp, followed by her voice, low and tentative: "John-" _John? How did she know his first name? _"-please, you have to-"

"Stay out of this, Mickie," John's voice was low, but the threat it contained rumbled like thunder. His azure irises, cold and flinty, remained on Dave. "You've already got a shit-ton to explain later...starting with why there's a naked bloodsucker in your bedroom."

Dave coughed again, this time tasting the coppery tang of his own blood on his tongue. "It's not...what you think..."

The Hunter's expression never so much as twitched. "You don't want to _know_ what I think_._" His voice was flat, emotionless...but Dave could still sense the faintest hint of disgust lurking at the edges of it. "By the way...since we're here...I don't suppose you'd like to tell me where that cock-juggling thundercunt Melina is?"

To this, Dave said nothing; only stared mutely back at him. Cena's face registered nothing, as though he had expected this response all along. Instead, he cocked the hammer of the gun back, the sound of it almost as deafening as a shot in the silence of the small room. "You've got until the count of _three_," the Hunter went on. As he spoke, he raised the gun a bit, until it was aimed directly between Dave's eyes. "After _that_...the next bullet is going in your brain. Understand?"

Behind Cena, his partner shifted uncomfortably; Dave had completely forgotten about him. He couldn't remember the rainbow-haired man's name; he usually referred to him derogatorily as "that crazy fuck", mostly based off of that one encounter when he had seen the Hunter strap a ticking bomb to his chest. Yet right now, this particular crazy fuck was staring at his leader as though Cena was the one who needed to be committed to a mental institution. "Boss..." the other Hunter ventured warily. "Hold on...think about this-"

"_One_!" Cena snapped brusquely, as though the other man wasn't even there. His eyes drilled into Dave's like blue lasers, a light glowing in their depths that was almost like..._satisfaction_.

Mickie was speaking now, her voice rapid and shrill with near-panic: "John, _please_, I'm begging you to listen-"

"_Two_!" the Hunter continued, cutting her off in mid-sentence. The satisfied light in his gaze had intensified, almost resembling madness, and Dave wondered if Cena really _had _lost it.

Just as he was about to utter the third number, however, the leader of the Hunter pack paused, staring intently at Dave-and for just the briefest of moments, the vampire got the impression that Cena was waiting for him to say something. Not necessarily where Melina was, but rather, something, _anything_, that would allow the hunt to continue; that would keep him from pulling the trigger and ending the game. He remembered something that Mickie had said; some remark she had made about her brother-

_Whatever he was doing, he needed it to survive..._

-and in that moment, he wondered if, just maybe, Cena was the same way.

By now, the pain was overwhelming. The vampire was barely conscious, swaying a little on his knees. Gritting his teeth, he forced his gaze up, meeting the Hunter's eyes with no fear or intimidation. His mouth moved, stumbling only a little bit over the words: "Don't blame Mickie...for this..._I love her_."

It wasn't until he saw the leader of the Hunter pack go stock-still that he realized he had uttered the words aloud. For an instant, Cena's stoic facade slipped, revealing an amalgamation of surprise, disbelief, and anger. In the next, however, he forced it back into place, spitting out the final syllable in a tight harsh whisper:

"_Three._"

With that, he pulled the trigger.

* * *

For Dave, the next few moments seemed to unspool in slow-motion. He saw the bullet exit the gun, spinning lazily as it hurtled toward him. In the back of his mind, the vampire knew that he wouldn't be able to dodge it-he was too weak and in too much pain-but somehow...he didn't really care.

Instead, he sat there on his haunches, watching dumbly as the bullet spun toward him, closer and closer, dimly anticipating the moment when it would pierce his forehead and bury itself in his brain...then all of a sudden, there was a blur of movement and color in front of him, and he felt hands shoving him out of the way, followed by another sharp bolt of pain as his wounded shoulder connected with the rough wooden floor. He turned his head, tried to speak, tried to say _something_...but it was already too late.

Mickie jerked as the bullet struck her, her body convulsing slightly, like a fish on a line. For a moment, she swayed on her feet, her face tilted up toward the ceiling, her mouth moving silently. Down on the sheet, where the left side of her ribcage would be, a spot of red appeared, growing and bleeding outward like a rose. Slowly, with limbs that appeared to be fast losing their strength, Mickie touched the irregular blotch, frowning in what almost looked like bewilderment when her palm came away red.

She looked up, met Dave's eyes...and then her brown irises rolled back into her head and she collapsed. The vampire wasn't sure where he found the strength to fly up, to catch Mickie in his arms before she fell, and gently lower her to the floor. He couldn't speak, couldn't _think_; his mind was frozen solid with shock.

Slowly, tenderly, he touched her cheek, feeling something almost akin to hope when her eyelids fluttered open at his caress. Ignoring the agony of his wounded shoulder, Dave leaned down over her. Details were jumping out at him in sharp relief: the bright strands of her hair, the texture of her skin...the pool of blood that was already starting to ooze out from beneath her tiny body.

Mickie's lips moved, her voice so soft that only he could have possibly heard it: "_Run...you stupid bastard...run..._"

And then...only silence.

In stark contrast to the seconds that had preceded this moment, the next handful elapsed in a blur: Dave was vaguely aware of jumping to his feet, of running toward and vaulting out the broken window, his massive body catching on the few jagged shards still remaining the frame and tearing open deep gashes in his skin. He remembered falling, and seeing the ground rushing toward him, and yet somehow landing on fours without incident. He remembered sprinting through the darkness, all the while hearing the almost-musical ZING of bullets whizzing past him.

He remembered all this...but the only thing he was _truly_ aware of was the singular thought racing through his head:

_If she dies...I'll kill them..._

_ I'll kill them all..._

* * *

_ "Fuck_!"

Cena ducked his head back inside, his handsome features twisted in a furious grimace. He had known as soon as Dave swan-dived through the window that he was going to escape-but yet, that hadn't stopped the Hunter from firing; hadn't stopped him from leaning out amid the broken glass and pulling the trigger until the magazine was empty and all he could hear was a hollow CLICK.

And why? Because the vampire was still alive? Because Mickie had shoved him out of the way and taken the bullet herself?

Or was it because of what Dave had said; those last few syllables he had uttered before the Hunter had pulled the trigger?

_Don't blame Mickie...for this..._

_ I love her..._

Cena pressed his lips together, shaking his head briskly. He had gone a little crazy, that was all. He had gotten a little gun-happy, and in doing so, had wounded an innocent bystander and allowed their closest lead to Melina to escape. There was no sense in dwelling on it; right now, he needed to focus on the crisis at hand.

The leader of the Hunter pack turned away from the window. Next to him, Jeff was kneeling down beside Mickie, his shirt already off and pressed against her ribs to staunch the bleeding. His other hand was on her neck, his fingers feeling for her carotid artery.

Cena stared hard at his partner. "Well?"

Jeff's emerald irises flicked up to meet his. "I've got a pulse. It's weak, but she's still alive. If we can get her somewhere..." He let the thought trail off, not confident enough to voice the possibility of success...but even less willing to express the alternative.

To this, Cena said nothing; only looked away, and Jeff could almost hear the whirl and hum of his computer-like brain as it ran down all of the options. After maybe a second or two, he met the rainbow-haired man's gaze again. "Doc Bryan...he's only a block and a half from here...and I know he still works nights. You go start up the van; I'll carry her."

Jeff didn't even reply; merely sprang to his feet and dashed out of the apartment. As soon as he was gone, Cena glanced back down at Rob James' little sister, his impassive expression softening just a touch. Gently, he reached out, brushing away a strand of hair that had caught on her lip.

"Don't you dare die on me, Mickie," the leader of the Hunter pack whispered. With the same delicate care, he lifted the brunette up into his arms, trying to ignore the blood seeping down his arm. Clenching his teeth, he quickly carried her toward the door, feeling the light pressure of her head lolling against his chest.

"You hear me? Don't you dare..."


	19. Chapter 19: Bite To Break Skin

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I know that this one is kind of short, but I think it's a nice little character chapter. I have to tell you - I am getting SO EXCITED about telling this story. Guess I'll have to update it more often then, lol.**

**Thank you to **AprilGilbert1996, Esha Napoleon, XxDarkCloudxX, Animal Luvr 4 Life, Girl on Fire, nikki1335, SLSheartsRKO, BigRedMachineUK, M Cuevas, **and **Nastygrl25 **for reviewing the last chapter! You ROCK! *big hugs all around***

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Chapter 18: Bite To Break Skin

"_Each breath is getting slower/This war/It's getting harder/To fight by myself…" –Senses Fail, "Bite To Break Skin"_

The doctor—or "Doc", as he was more commonly known to his patients and associates—operated out of a dilapidated brownstone building in one of the sketchier areas of town. By day, he ran a free clinic, providing much-needed health services to drug addicts, prostitutes, and the local homeless. To the majority of people who passed by the rundown structure day after day, Doc Bryan was practically invisible - just another hopeless optimist; striving in his own misguided way to stave off the inevitable spread of poverty, disease, and decay.

However, these individuals also had no idea about the services Bryan provided after the sun had set. _These_ were carried out on the basement level, rather than in the main clinic on the first and second floors—and were administered to a very _specific_ type of clientele.

Namely…_Hunters_.

Being the danger-prone daredevil that he was, Jeff often required medical services more than any other members of his team—more times than he could count, he had wound up on that padded examination table, staring at the ceiling and gritting his teeth against the pain as Bryan splinted a broken limb, or applied salve to first- or second-degree burns.

During those visits—being as how they were the _only_ times where he had no recourse but to lie there and think—the rainbow-haired man had often puzzled over the enigma that was Doc Bryan. As much as Jeff trusted him, he just couldn't figure the good doctor out.

For one, Hunters - as well as the outer periphery of individuals who assisted them - were generally a melancholy lot; some of them took to the work with more enthusiasm than others, but they _all_ viewed their chosen path as a necessity rather than a calling.

In contrast, Bryan was of an unusually cheerful disposition, possessing a good-humored streak that never faltered, not even when he was suturing deep wounds or setting broken bones. Jeff knew that there had to be _something_, some _reason_ behind the doctor's nightly activities - after all, you didn't just wake up one morning and _decide_ to patch up vampire hunters - but whatever it was, he had yet to catch even a glimpse of it behind Bryan's ebullient demeanor and lopsided grin.

Another thing the rainbow-haired man couldn't understand was why, despite all of his efforts to counteract and heal the damage caused by bloodsuckers, Bryan never showed any interest in picking up a gun and joining the war himself. His daytime job put him in contact with the preferred prey of vamps, and while he always tried to downplay his expertise, he knew more about vampire physiology and the transformation process from human to bloodsucker than anyone else Jeff had ever met.

Bryan's knowledge alone would have been a huge weapon in their arsenal - but instead, the good doctor seemed content to merely mend and repair; to advise...but never actively participate. And when the rainbow-haired man had eventually asked him flat-out why he chose _not_ to fight, Bryan's response had been to flash a wry smile and tap the framed copy of the Hippocratic oath hanging next to the examination table.

_"First do no harm, my friend. If I broke THAT rule, then I couldn't very well call myself a doctor..."_

His reply had pissed Jeff off at first - to the rainbow-haired Hunter, it was just the sort of philosophical bullshit that a coward spouts off to avoid getting his hands dirty. But as time passed, and he thought more about it, he began to realize that perhaps Bryan had his own code of honor to live by...and in order to function within that code, he needed to view the world around him in his own particular shades of black and white.

All of this passed through the rainbow-haired man's head as he steered the van down the narrow trash-littered alleyway, stomping on the brake as gently as he dared once he arrived at the back entrance to Bryan's clinic.

The rear half of the property was surrounded by a tall wooden fence, falling apart in some places. The gate was unlocked; it opened with a harsh CREAK of rusty hinges and Jeff strode inside, followed closely by Cena, who was still cradling the unconscious Mickie in his arms.

The yard's surviving vegetation had been allowed to run riot; climbing up over the warped wooden slats and providing an ideal habitat for hordes of bloodthirsty mosquitoes. Jeff impatiently slapped at a few of them as he pushed his way toward the basement entrance. Despite its appearance, the property's air of neglect was also a sort of camouflage - he knew that there were motion sensors embedded in the ground beneath his feet, picking up his every move, and when he pounded his fist against the door, it echoed with the unmistakable BOOM of reinforced steel.

Bryan might be loath to directly involve himself in the conflict...but that didn't mean he wasn't careful.

The rainbow-haired shot a cautious glance back toward his leader. There were no lights back here, and he sensed that Cena's black attire was absorbing the worst of the damage...but even in the almost-nonexistent illumination, Jeff could still see that the bedsheet wrapped around Mickie was already more red than white.

A shuttered slat in the door slid back sharply, startling him. Whirling around, Jeff caught a glimpse of a figure peering out at him, silhouetted against the fluorescent light from within, before it slammed back into place again. It was followed by the faint oiled click of bolts being drawn back - and then the door swung open, and Bryan poked his head out, a welcoming grin already on his face. "_Well_..._look _who it is!"

Even though this was probably the umpteenth time he'd had occasion to knock on the doc's door, Jeff still felt a flicker of disbelief course through him - he never _could_ get over just how _young_ Bryan looked. With his close-cropped blond hair and poor excuse for a beard - which he'd probably grown in a vain attempt to look older - the doctor looked like he should still be living in his parents' basement, playing video games and trying to work up the nerve to talk to girls.

Certainly not holed up in a place like _this_, patching up injured bodies and researching the anatomy of things that went bump in the night.

Bryan was speaking again: "So what's it _this _time, Jeff-" His jovial tone abruptly trailed off into surprised silence as Cena shouldered past his subordinate, bringing Mickie into the doctor's line of sight.

For one stunned second, Bryan's gaze swept across her, taking in her scarred face, the blood seeping through the bedsheet...and then in the next, his medical training kicked in and he stepped back, grabbing a nearby stretcher and dragging it over. "What happened?" he asked, his tone now brisk and somewhat subdued.

In spite of the situation, Jeff had to admire his leader's control - Cena's strong features didn't so much as twitch at the query. His voice was flat, almost forcibly so: "I was aiming for a vamp - Mick got in the way."

Bryan's face registered mild astonishment. "You _shot_ her? With _your_ gun?" The doctor let out a low whistle. "She's lucky to be alive." He paused. "What about the vampire?"

This time, Jeff thought he saw a small muscle near Cena's jaw throb as the leader of the Hunter pack clenched his teeth. "Later, Doc - save _her_ first."

As he spoke, he gently laid the unconscious Mickie onto the stretcher. As he did so, her head lolled to the side, her golden-brown hair falling back and exposing the ragged bite marks tattooed on her throat.

Bryan, still in the process of putting on his stethoscope, immediately froze, his gaze fastened on the old wounds. For a long agonizing moment, no one spoke, and Jeff felt the tension level within the small receiving room ratchet up several notches.

The doctor's eyes flicked upward, meeting Cena's. "She must mean a lot to you," The remark was perfectly innocuous, and uttered in the mildest of tones...but at the same time, it said everything that could not be said.

The Hunter's response was a curt nod. "Yeah, Doc...she does." For another lengthy second, the two men eyed one another...then Bryan looked away, bellowing: "_Gail_!"

The word was not even out of his mouth before the operating room doors burst open and a young Asian woman came barreling out, already tucking her long dark hair up under a surgical cap. She froze when she saw Mickie, her almond-shaped eyes taking in the other woman's wounds - old _and_ new - with the same stunned fascination...but just like Bryan, the instant passed and she was all business again. "What've we got?"

"Gunshot wound, upper left quadrant," Bryan pushed the stretcher as he spoke, the familiar comforting syllables of medical terminology driving out his remaining uncertainty. "High-caliber weapon - looks like a through-and-through. She's lost a lot of blood-"

Cena and Jeff had been completely forgotten by this point. The rainbow-haired man watched as the medical pair wheeled the stretcher into the operating room. He caught one final glimpse of Mickie's ashen face, and remembered thinking: _God...she looks so peaceful-_

And then the doors swung shut, severing her from his view.

* * *

"Fucking _bitch_!"

Morrison rolled his eyes, pressing the ice pack against his forehead and sinking back into the plush softness of the sofa. Two Percocet and a glassful of hot blood had gone a long ways toward soothing the pain in his head, dulling all sensation down to a warm fuzzy numbness.

Too bad they couldn't do the same thing for Miz's voice.

Next to him, the mohawked vampire sulked, protectively clutching his Mason jar of blood in one hand and holding a washcloth against his injured face with the other. Miz's broken nose and ankle had already knitted up and healed; the bullet wound in his cheek, however, was a different story.

Part of the reason silver was such an effective anti-vampire weapon was that wounds inflicted by it took longer to heal - hence the washcloth. Even after almost two hours, the injury still wouldn't stop seeping, and Miz was on his fourth square of terrycloth - the first three were in a trashcan at his feet.

Unfortunately, the wound had _not_ affected the mohawked vampire's ability to whine.

Which he was doing.

_In abundance_.

Miz paused, chugging a mouthful of blood before going on: "I don't give a _shit_ what _Dave_ said - tomorrow night, I'm gonna find that cunt, and I'm gonna peel the skin off her bones-"

Morrison sighed heavily. Within the comforting haze induced by the drugs, Miz's voice was as grating as nails on a chalkboard, preventing the brown-haired vampire from slipping fully into chemical oblivion. "Jesus, dude," he interjected suddenly. "Give it a rest, would ya?"

"A _rest_?" Miz turned, glaring at his partner with furious incredulity. "A _rest_? Look at what _her _and that _asshole did _to me!" To punctuate this remark, he pulled the washcloth away, exposing the open wound marring his cheek - even after being wiped clean of blood, the injury was still raw, wet, and oozing.

The mohawked vampire pressed the makeshift tourniquet back against his face, still glowering at his counterpart. "They barely even _touched_ you-"

"Hey, I got chokeslammed onto the fucking _floor_!" Morrison shot back angrily, sitting up a little. "Then I went through that window, _same as you_ - and let me tell you: going through that glass...it didn't _tickle_!"

"So _what_?" Miz retorted. "You didn't get _shot_ in the _fucking FACE-"_

"That's _enough_!" At the sound of Melina's voice, sharp and authoritative, both vampires snapped their mouths shut, sinking back against the couches and adopting similar countenances of obedient petulance.

Their sire sat across from them, just outside the pool of light cast by the small table lamp, little more than a petite silhouette of shadow. She hadn't moved once during Miz and Morrison's recount of their discovery and Dave's retaliation, and the terse order she'd just barked had been the first thing she'd said during all that time.

Now the female vampire shifted a little in her seat, leaning forward ever-so-slightly. "Now...if you boys are _quite finished_..." Her voice was like poisoned honey; the weight of her gaze almost palpable. "...tell me again - are you absolutely _sure_ about what you saw?"

The other two vampires exchanged a quick look before focusing on her once again. "Absolutely," Morrison replied.

"No question," Miz chimed in.

"Are you _positive_?" Melina's voice was still soft, still sweet...but hovering at the edges of it, there was the faintest hint of what could almost be _desperation._

"Look," the mohawked vampire answered, unable to keep a note of exasperation out of his tone. "Do I _really need _to describe just how _close_ his _junk _was to my _face_-"

"Dude, _shut_ _up_!" Morrison hissed fiercely. He shot a glance back toward his sire, sympathy momentarily flitting across his handsome features. "Look...they were both naked, they were in bed together, he was _holding her_-" The brown-haired vampire shrugged. "If they _weren't_ fucking, then I sure as hell want to know what they _were_ doing-"

To this, Melina said nothing. Her fingers gripped the arms of her chair, and Morrison saw them twitch slightly as they arched up into claws. For one single uncomfortable second, silence filled the large room...and then all of a sudden, Melina's eyes flashed red in the darkness, like twin orbs of hellish flame - accompanied by the low harsh whisper of her voice. "That _bastard_!"

With a snarl, the female vampire sprang to her feet. Grabbing the massive coffee table with one hand, she upended it with ease, sending the piece of furniture sailing across the room. The table hit the opposite wall and broke in a shower of glittering glass.

Melina whirled around, stalking toward the massive window, her movements as tense and coiled as those of a caged jungle cat, aching to sink its teeth and claws into something small and helpless. Her voice was shrill with fury. "After _everything_ I've _done_ for him-"

"You should have let us kill him, Mel," Miz remarked nonchalantly, leaning back and taking another huge swallow of blood.

"_Quiet_!" The female vampire spat the word out through clenched teeth, and Miz instantly complied, gulping nervously and nearly choking on his beverage in the process. Melina took no notice; only reached up to tuck a lock of long black hair back behind her ear. Her movements were slow, deliberate - as though by engaging in this meaningless act, she could coax herself back into a state of calm.

It must have worked, because when she eventually did speak again, her tone was considerably more rational. "Tell me..." Both vampires instantly tensed, certain that another piece of furniture was destined to meet the same fate as the coffee table. But Melina didn't move; only stared out the enormous window at the vast cityscape. "This girl, this..._human_...what's she like?"

To this, Miz and Morrison exchanged another look, before the brown-haired vampire tentatively answered: "Crazy-"

"Yeah," his partner chimed in. "She acted like she..._knew_...us or something - like we..._did_...her." Miz slowly shook his head. "But that...that's impossible..." He glanced up at his sire. "Mor and I...we don't leave them alive."

"No..." Melina replied softly, tracing a meaningless pattern on the glass with her index finger. "You don't..." Her tone was distracted; it was unclear whether she was answering the mohawked vampire or merely remarking to herself.

The pair of vampires exchanged one final unspoken stare, before Miz added: "Another thing...her _face_...it was all messed up-"

Neither one of them noticed the female vampire go absolutely still. "Messed up?" Melina asked, her tone disinterested...but with the barest suggestion of curiosity. She turned her head, looking at Miz out of the corner of her eye. "Messed up _how_?"

The mohawked vampire shrugged. "I don't know..._scarred_. Like...like someone did..._this_...to her." He pantomimed raking his fingernails over his own features.

If Miz had been standing next to Melina, he would have seen her dark eyes widen, would have seen recognition flashing in their depths...would have heard the low murmur of her voice as she whispered...

_So she survived...the little bitch survived... _

_ Interesting...how very, very interesting..._

But the mohawked vampire heard and saw none of these things - only sat up a little straighter as Melina abruptly turned away from the window, taking a few lazy steps back toward her "pets". "Tomorrow night," the female vampire declared. "The two of you are going to go out hunting, just like always. I don't care where you go - just make yourselves scarce from this building."

"Why?" Surprisingly, Morrison was the one to stupidly blurt out the query.

Melina's expression was calm, neutral. "Because if there's one thing I know about Dave and his _pathetic_ bleeding heart...it's that he'll want an explanation...and he'll come here to get it." Her countenance didn't change, but all at once, her eyes were like glittering chips of black ice. "And when _that_ happens...I don't want you two to be _anywhere near _here."

"Are you _crazy_?" Miz blurted out, his tone disbelieving. "After what he _did_ to you last night-"

"I can handle Dave," Melina's voice left no room for negotiation. "He surprised me once...but that will _not happen again_." The female vampire crossed the room, sinking delicately back down into her chair. "Besides...you boys already tried it _your_ way - now let me try it _mine_."

Her "pets" eyed her warily. "What...what are you going to do?" Morrison asked slowly.

Melina shrugged; a lazy, almost seductive movement. "Nothing...merely _remind _him _why_...in the end...he _always_ comes back to me."

"What if...this time...he doesn't?" the brown-haired vampire pressed. "What if he still goes back to _her_?"

Melina blinked, her beautiful face a portrait of angelic sweetness. "Then I'll kill him. And then I'll kill her. And that will be that."

Her lips parted, curving upward in a malicious smile and exposing the white tips of her fangs. "Now...why don't you two be good boys and _come here to Mama..._"


	20. Chapter 20: Severing The Heartline

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I've been updating this story more than my other ones, mostly because the majority of my inspiration has been for this fic - and who can ignore inspiration? Another intense chapter, took a lot out of me - I need to go watch something mindless right now. But as always, I hope you enjoy it, because that is most important. PEACE!**

**Thank you to **AprilGilbert1996, Shandy777, Girl on Fire, BigRedMachineUK, Esha Napoleon, M Cuevas, **and **nikki1335 **for reviewing the last chapter! I love yas all! *big group hug (c'mon, you know y'all want to!)***

* * *

Chapter 19: Severing The Heartline

"_I swear I never meant to let it die/I just don't care about you anymore…" – Three Days Grace, "Let It Die"_

Randy's shoes crunched softly against fragments of plaster and slivers of splintered wood as he stepped carefully into the apartment. The Viper's Pit owner looked around, his cold blue eyes taking in everything—the unhinged door, the jagged man-sized hole in the wall, the broken window, its heavy drapes swaying almost imperceptibly in the late-morning breeze—with their usual air of detached inscrutability.

His lip curled faintly in disgust. "_Knew_ I couldn't trust those two fuckwits to get the job done," he muttered bitterly to himself. "Never send a vamp to do a man's job—"

"What was that, Boss?"

Randy rolled his eyes, wondering how many of Cody's inanely stupid questions he was going to have to tolerate before he lost his patience and belted him in the mouth. He hadn't requested his employee's presence—the younger man had already been outside the apartment building when he had arrived, claiming concern for Mickie and wanting to "check in on her".

Personally, Randy didn't give a damn about his subordinate's feelings of solicitude, and was about to order him to go back home—when he abruptly changed his mind. Cody might be dim-witted, overly sentimental, and his recent lapses in judgment had left something to be desired…but he was also trustworthy. Any sense of defiance the bartender might have possessed had been systematically cowed out of him years ago—and even if he didn't like what he saw, he could be relied upon to keep his eyes averted and his mouth shut.

Besides, a second set of hands could prove useful…especially if those two vamps had left a mess.

Now, surveying the destruction surrounding him, the Viper's Pit owner mused to himself that he had at least been right about the mess. Whoever had been here had done everything short of razing this place to the ground—but of the culprits, and the apartment's sole inhabitant, there was no sign.

Which begged the question—what _exactly_ had occurred within these walls last night…and where had they all gone?

Behind him, Cody entered the domicile, tripping on the broken door and almost face-planting. Catching himself awkwardly on his hands and knees, he looked up, his eyes widening as he slowly drank in the chaos around him. "_Jesus Christ_! What…what the hell _happened_ here?"

Once again choosing to ignore his subordinate's pointless queries, Randy instead strode into the bedroom, his laser-like gaze falling across the wrinkled sheets, the various articles of clothing strewn across the floor. Crouching down, the Viper's Pit owner hooked his index finger around one of the garments—a pair of women's panties—and raising the scrap of lace and elastic to his face, inhaled deeply, his eyes drifting closed.

They were Mickie's, all right; the fabric was coated with her scent, her _essence_. But there was something different about it this time; some unfamiliar aroma mingling with hers, almost like—

Randy's azure irises flew open, quickly narrowing to small slits. "That fucking _whore_…" he remarked flatly to no one in particular.

"Boss, _look_!"

Irritation briefly flashed across the Viper's Pit owner's features, and he looked up, mouth already open to deliver a blistering retort—then stopped as he realized that Cody, amazing as it seemed, had actually _found_ something of interest.

The dark-haired kid was down on his knees beside a large uneven pool of blood. He glanced up as Randy walked over, an expression of disbelieving dismay on his youthful face. "Don't…don't tell me that—"

The Viper's Pit owner walked over and knelt down as well, dipping two digits into the viscous fluid and testing its consistency between his thumb and forefinger. "It's human, all right," he pronounced flatly.

He heard all the air forcibly leave Cody's lungs, as though the bartender had been punched in the stomach. "Shit…" With an arm that was visibly trembling, he pointed toward the far side of the room; his voice, when he finally regained enough composure to speak, was weak and barely audible: "There's more…over there—"

Randy glanced over his shoulder in the indicated direction, his blue eyes sweeping over the smaller smeared puddle of vital fluid with cursory disinterest. "That's vamp blood."

Cody's eyes bulged in surprise. He struggled for words, the movements of his jaw out of sync with the syllables tumbling out of his mouth: "How—how do you know—"

"Clots faster." the Viper's Pit owner interjected bluntly, his tone indicating that would be _all_ the explanation that would be forthcoming. The bartender opened his mouth again, perhaps to stupidly inquire as to exactly _how_ his boss had come to know this particular facet of information, but then snapped it shut.

It seemed that even blathering idiots such as Cody were capable of grasping that _some_ things were better off unknown.

Instead, the dark-haired kid hung his head, his shoulders slumping, and Randy noticed for the first time that his subordinate was cradling Mickie's gun in his lap, his fingers trailing unconsciously over its metal contours—as though by doing so, he could somehow summon its owner back. "She…she wouldn't have left _this_ behind," His voice was full of forced denial, as if even _he_ didn't quite believe what he was saying. His gaze, when he eventually lifted it up to meet his boss's, was dejected and miserable; like a kid who has just had to learn the hard way that the monsters lurking underneath the bed are very, _very _real. "No matter _what_—she wouldn't have left it behind—"

"She's not dead," Randy interrupted coldly, and almost immediately wished that he hadn't—the look of hope that flitted across Cody's youthful features was so nauseating that it made him want to vomit.

Instead, the Viper's Pit owner looked away, concentrating for a second or two on wiping his bloody fingers off on the pair of panties he still clutched in his other hand. His tone, when he spoke again, was unemotional; almost businesslike. "I told those vamps to leave her alive—even if they _had_ killed her, they wouldn't have taken the body with them."

Something flashed briefly in Cody's eyes—something that was very much like suspicious comprehension. "Wait…" the dark-haired kid remarked slowly. "You don't mean the two from last night—"

"On the other hand—" Randy continued as though Cody hadn't even spoken. "—with that much blood loss, she's not exactly going to be walking around on her own two feet any time soon, which begs the question—who else was here…and where did they take her?"

The Viper's Pit owner slowly rose to his feet, his azure irises carefully scanning the confines of the tiny bedroom. One thing he had learned long ago was there was a pattern, an order, a specific code of behavior to everything—living or otherwise—within this world…and that those who inevitably emerged the victor were the ones, like him, who were able to discern these patterns and manipulate them to their own advantage.

Nothing in this life was random—stare at chaos long enough, and gradually the tidy framework behind it would begin to emerge. Like the footprints, for example. Randy could discern two sets of bare foot impressions amid the numerous bloody smears—one large, one small. The smaller set was clearly Mickie's, while the larger ones no doubt belonged to that prick Dave. Those led to the window, and the drops of blood that accompanied them more or less confirmed that the big man was the source of the vamp blood pool.

Their presence, their _placement_ made sense…but what _didn't_ was why either one of them would be bleeding in the first place.

Which led to the _other_ two sets of footprints. The owners of _these_ had worn boots—and these tracks led _out_ of the apartment…but not _in_.

The Viper's Pit owner cocked his head to the side, studying the faint impressions stamped in blood—and as he did, the dull glint of metal caught his eye. Something small and metallic had rolled into a large crack between the wall and floor. Stooping down, Randy pried it out, holding it up to his face to examine it.

Behind him, he heard the creak of floorboards, followed by the unwanted presence of Cody right at his shoulder. "What…what's _that_?" the dark-haired kid asked tentatively.

Randy rolled his eyes again, resisting only with effort the urge to drive the hard joint of his elbow right into his subordinate's unwitting face. "It's a bullet casing, _stupid_," the blue-eyed man snapped.

Once again, he heard Cody utter that particular combination of unintelligible sounds as the bartender strived to compel his limited mental capacities to form coherent words. "A _bullet casing_? You mean like, from a _gun_? From _Mickie's_ gun?"

This time, the Viper's Pit owner shot a pointed glare over his shoulder. "_No. That_—" he indicated the weapon still clutched in Cody's hands. "—is a 9 mil. _This_—" He held up the casing, rotating it slightly between thumb and forefinger. "—has to be _at_ _least_ a .44." He tossed the casing up into the air, catching it deftly and cupping it in his outstretched palm. "If you're carrying a gun full of _these_—then you are _damn_ sure looking to kill _something_…"

The blue-eyed man's deep voice trailed off into silence as he studied the casing closer. On the base, where the manufacturer's name would normally be stamped, there were instead four letters, crudely etched into the copper:

_RN/FL_

In spite of everything—Mickie's mysterious absence, the anarchy surrounding him, the complete fiasco that this entire situation had become—Randy felt a slow smirk slip onto his face.

The game…had just become a whole lot more interesting.

* * *

Dave pressed his back against the wall, absorbing the kaleidoscope of sound surrounding him—the low monotonous hum of the air conditioning, the oiled whir of the elevator machinery, the omnipresent mental bursts of thought and emotion emanating from the building's human residents.

The vampire let it all wash over him—and then in the next instant, he twisted his internal volume knob all the way to the left, reducing everything to silence; focusing all of his attention, all of his energy, all of his _strength_ on the task that awaited him…on the hell that would no doubt break loose once he stepped through the door of the place he had once called home.

He was about fifty yards or so from his and Melina's apartment, safely out of sight behind a corner by the stairwell. A few minutes ago, he had heard Miz and Morrison emerge from the domicile for their nightly hunt. Dave hadn't dared poke his head around the corner to look—but just the casual lilt of their voices, the cruel amused echo of their laughter, had been enough to clamp a veneer of red down over his vision, and it had taken every ounce of willpower he still possessed not to lunge out into the open and charge them both head-on.

Dave had been lucky—Cena's shot had gone through his shoulder instead of lodging halfway—but it had taken until sunset for the wound to finally close, and at about only half of his full strength, he wouldn't stand a chance against the gruesome twosome. A full-on assault would more than likely only result in him getting killed—and then what? Sure, there was always the chance either one of the sadistic pair would eventually end up on the wrong side of a loaded gun—but with Melina protecting them, how long would that be?

How long would their reign of terror continue…and how many ruined lives would they leave in their wake before they were finally and utterly stopped?

Dave closed his eyes as unwanted memories washed over him—the accusation in Mickie's voice—

_You're the worst kind of monster…_

—the cold unrelenting bite of the gun barrel as it dug into his skin—

_You could have stopped them…but you didn't…_

The vampire gritted his teeth, gnawing the inside of his cheek until blood filled his mouth, but that wasn't enough to prevent the recollections from speeding forward to their inevitable conclusion-

To Mickie, lying on the floor, her life bleeding out beneath her, her final whispered words to him—

_Run…you stupid bastard…run…_

Dave's eyelids flew open, his dark eyes almost black with barely contained anger and anguish. He would make Miz and Morrison pay for their crimes—not just Mickie, but all the others—but it would be on _his_ terms, not theirs.

Right now, however, there was something that he needed to do; some_one_ that he needed to confront.

Someone who, in her own twisted way, was responsible for all of this.

Pushing his massive frame off the wall, the vampire eased himself around the corner, moving slowly but relentlessly toward apartment 1417. He reached the door, grasped the knob—then hesitated. He didn't have to go through with this—he could turn around right now, vanish into the night, and never come back.

A moment later, however, common sense reasserted itself. Running away would change nothing. It would solve _nothing_. The only thing it _would_ do was delay the inevitability of this confrontation—and even _if_ Dave did manage to safely disappear, Melina would merely track down Mickie instead and take out the bulk of her frustration and rage on _her_.

Right now, he didn't know if the brunette was even alive…but if he left, then she was as good as dead. And if _that_ happened…then it wouldn't matter how strong or powerful a creature he was, because he would never be able to live with himself.

Mickie was right; he _was_ a coward…but now, the time for cowardice had passed.

Taking a deep breath, the vampire turned the knob, pushing the door open.

* * *

The apartment was dark; the artificial glow of the city lights outside, and above them, the enormous silvery disk of the full moon providing the only illumination. Dave moved slowly, cautiously, into the lair, his dark eyes scanning back and forth for even the slightest hint of movement.

He couldn't see anything, hear anything, _smell_ anything—and yet he _knew_, with that intangible primal intuition that always manages to ring true, that he wasn't alone; that _she_ was here.

The vampire stepped down into the sunken living room, noting almost matter-of-factly that the coffee table was gone. He moved into the void it had occupied, staring up at the sky beyond the thick glass of the window, the moon casting a bluish-gray glow down onto his face.

All of a sudden, he froze as the faintest hint of a scent, an _essence_, floated past his nostrils. It was sweet, like the subtle perfume of flowers—but at the same time, there was something rank and unnatural about its aroma, like a blossom that grows from the rotting remains of a corpse…

"Dave."

The big man started a little as Melina stepped out of the shadowed confines of their bedroom. He had grown so accustomed to his sire's impatience, he had forgotten how _still_ she could be when she wanted to; remaining motionless for hours on end, without the slightest twitch or breath to betray that she was _alive_…let alone _aware_.

The female vampire stepped forward a little into the light, eying her lover without speaking. As usual, she looked stunning—flawless features, hair perfectly coiffed, curvaceous body displayed to its best advantage—but for the first time, Dave forced himself to look _past_ all that; to tear his gaze away from the swells of her ample breasts and instead focus on her eyes.

And what he saw there was enough to send what little physical desire for her he still possessed skittering away into a dark hole, never to return—because there was _nothing_ in Melina's dark irises; no warmth, no emotion, no _life_. It was like staring into the eyes of a corpse.

The female vampire regarded him for a second, her countenance unreadable, her eyes lifeless. "You're back."

The big man nodded slowly, his face just as inscrutable as hers. "I'm back."

He saw Melina's eyes twitch slightly, her gaze making a subtle sweep of his body. "You look like hell."

To this, Dave had no response. After escaping from Mickie's apartment, he had taken refuge in the basement storage area of a nearby thrift shop until the following night, helping himself to a few of the store's wares before making his way to the apartment building. However, he knew that it was more than just the torn jeans and stained gray zip-up hooded sweatshirt that his sire was referring to.

Even though his wound was outwardly healed, even though there was no blood on his clothes—there was still something less formidable about him; something that exuded weakness. And if there was one thing that Melina had never been able to tolerate…it was weakness.

The female vampire stared hard at him, her dark eyes narrowing slightly—and then all at once, she was in front of him, vaulting over the couch and closing the distance between them in a blur of motion too fast for even _him_ to see. Swinging her hand up, she slapped him across the face.

It was the first time in the decade-long span of their relationship that she had _ever_ hit him; the blow almost dislocated Dave's jaw. As he stood there, trying to summon up enough awareness to determine if anything was really broken, she whipped her hand back with equal force in the opposite direction, backhanding him across the other cheek.

This time, Dave actually saw stars for a second or two, and he stood there, blinking stupidly in the faint light. His lack of a reaction seemed to anger the female vampire even more, because with a shrill snarl, she brought her hand up again, her fingernails sinking into his flesh this time and tearing open a line of gashes on his cheek.

Before, the pain had stunned him into unresponsiveness—but now, as the air stung his open wounds, the vampire felt awareness come roaring back to him, and as blood tamped down over his vision, all he could hear was the recounted recollection of his sire's voice, perfectly uttered, as though he too had been in that alley that night…

_I want this bitch to remember me…_

With a low growl, Dave grabbed Melina's wrist, wrenching her arm away from him. There was a low sickening pop as her shoulder dislocated, and the female vampire's furious scream morphed into one of agony. With the same brutal force, the big man shoved her away from him, and Melina staggered back, knocking into the sofa and sinking down awkwardly onto its cushions. She stared at her lover with a look that was halfway between rage and disbelief, her words emerging in a spiteful hiss: "You fucking _bastard—_"

"Shut up." Melina was so surprised that, amazingly, she obeyed; snapping her full lips shut like a spring-loaded trap. The big man pointed at her, only half-cognizant of the words pouring out of his mouth: "I _really_ don't want to hurt you—but I swear to _God_ I will break your fucking _jaw_ if that's what it takes for you to _shut up_."

Silence followed his threat. The vampire sucked in a breath, his eyes never wavering from those of his sire. "You're going to tell me what I want to know—and for once, it's going to be the _truth_. If I think you're lying to me, I'm going to break your fingers. Understand?"

There was no answer from his sire; Melina merely stared mutely back at him, her dark eyes glittering with malice. "_Do you understand_?" the vampire pressed. Still no response, and in the silence that stretched between them, Dave could feel her silently challenging him; daring him to actually make good on his threat.

In that singular moment of realization, the big man felt something inside him give way. Without warning, he crossed the space between them, grabbing her uninjured hand and bending the slender index finger back until the bone broke with a harsh snap.

All the blood drained from Melina's face, a soft strangled sound of pain working its way up from her throat. Her eyes were glassy with agony and surprise, and so wide that Dave could see a ring of white all around the iris. Letting go of the mangled digit, which now jutted out from her hand at an unnatural angle, he grabbed hold of the middle finger. "_Understand_?" the vampire growled, his voice harsh and barely recognizable.

For a second, a plethora of emotions flickered across Melina's beautiful face—pain, disbelief, fury—but in the next, they all evaporated, leaving her features as blankly doll-like as before. "I understand," the female vampire whispered, her tone flat and tightly controlled. She nodded toward her dislocated shoulder. "Do you mind if I make myself more comfortable first?"

Dave regarded for an instant longer, then wordlessly released his grip on her hand. Without taking her eyes off of his, she took hold of her injured arm, jamming it upward and popping it back into its socket. It took everything Dave had not to flinch; Melina's expression never so much as twitched.

That accomplished, she leaned back against the couch, crossing one leg demurely over the other, resting her hands in her lap—her broken finger the only indication that anything was at all amiss. She cocked her head toward him, arching her eyebrows slightly, as though to say _Well? What are you waiting for?_

Dave backed up a pace or two, eying her with the same amount of caution that a hiker regards a hissing rattlesnake. "So…" he began, his voice as emotionless as hers. "Judging by the warm welcome, I'm guessing that you heard what happened?"

"If you mean about how you got caught sticking your dick where it doesn't belong and how you almost killed my boys defending that piece of human _trash_, then _yes_." Melina shot back, her dark irises narrowing. "Miz and Mor told me the _whole sordid story_."

She tilted her head back, staring at her lover with what could have almost been disgusted betrayal. "A _junkie_. Of all the women you could have tossed me aside for, you chose some worthless damaged _human_ junkie." The female vampire slowly shook her head. "How could you _do_ this to me—"

"Is it true?" Dave's voice was still soft, still toneless. His expression was unreadable…but his dark eyes simmered with emotion.

Bewilderment momentarily flitted across Melina's flawless countenance. "Is _what_ true?"

"What she told me," The vampire took a hesitant step toward his sire. "About what happened in that alley three years ago…about what you and your _pets_ did to her—"

The corner of Melina's mouth twitched, curving up in a derisive half-smile. "How very _vague_ of you," the female vampire drawled. She cast a scornful glance up and down Dave's massive frame. "You _honestly_ expect me to remember something so _trivial_ as _that_, and even if I did—"

Her retort ended in a pain-filled shriek as Dave grabbed hold of her middle finger, snapping it as easily and brutally as someone breaking a twig. The female vampire's voice scampered up an octave or so, and when she spoke again, her tone was subdued and filled with extreme effort: "—_even if I did…_you've obviously already heard it from _her_." She shot a glare up at her lover. "What could you _possibly_ gain by hearing it from _me_?"

"Why?" Dave grabbed hold of Melina's chin, forcing her head up even more; forcing her to meet his gaze. "_Why_? Because even after a decade, you're still a stranger to me. You hide behind that face and that body—and God knows, I _let_ you, because it was always easier to _fuck_ you than accept that there's nothing inside you but emptiness."

He leaned down until his nose bumped against hers, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, his fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to bruise. "But now…as you might have noticed…things have changed. Now…I want the _truth_ from you, for _once_ in your _pathetic_ immortal life. For _once_, I want you to look me in the eye and admit that you're a monster. That you _watched_ while they raped Mickie almost to _death—_and that when she spat in your face…you ruined hers."

A long tense silence followed his words. Melina's irises were almost black with pain and hate. Her lips moved, spitting out a remark that was so bitter and offhand Dave wasn't sure if it was directed at him or merely herself: "Ever the fucking white knight..."

Gradually, the female vampire shrugged; a small, almost imperceptible movement that nevertheless hinted at a sort of resignation. "All right," she murmured. "It's true, then...what my boys did to your _Mickie_...that I watched them do it..."

For a moment, her eyes glittered with a kind of vile mischievousness. "But what I'm guessing not even your little scarred girlfriend mentioned was _how much_ all three of us enjoyed _every second _of it."

It had been almost twenty-four hours since Dave had learned the truth about Mickie's tormentors - more than ample time for him to come to terms with it; to mull over it again and again and wear down its harsh prickly surface. But yet, as soon as that terse admission of guilt emerged from Melina's mouth - the being who had made him; the _woman_ who had been _everything_ to him until a few months ago - the big man felt an overwhelming and indescribable sensation of horror wash over him. Letting go of the female vampire, he involuntary backed away, almost stumbling over his own feet in the process, unable to tear his gaze away from his sire.

Melina watched his retreat with amused scorn. "Oh, _come on_, _baby_," The way she spat out the last word - once her sole term of endearment - stung like the worst epithet. "You _wanted_ the _truth_ - don't tell me that you can't handle it now." She narrowed her eyes, peering at him with what could have almost been puzzlement. "That look on your face...it's as though...I _disgust_ you-"

"What did you _expect_?" In spite of himself, Dave heard his voice shake, threatening to crack beneath the weight of so many pent-up emotions. He wiped his hand on his shirt, as though by doing so, he could somehow decontaminate himself of her touch. "What you did to Mickie...what you put her through..."

He stared at his sire with morbid astonishment. "You don't even regret what you've done...do you? Jesus...you destroyed her _life_-"

"_So_?" The bland nonchalance in Melina's tone send a rush of hot bile shooting up his throat. The female vampire shrugged once more. "She's just another human, Dave - her _life_ is _meaningless_."

It took everything Dave had to keep his jaw from dropping in shock, and in the back of his mind, he vaguely wondered how, less than two nights ago, he had been fucking this woman. He wondered what could have _ever_ compelled him to fuck this woman.

_No_ - a woman was only what Melina _appeared_ to be; the creature staring back at him was nothing more than a demon. Its outer surface might be beautiful...but what lurked beneath it was festering and rotten to the core.

The big man slowly shook his head. "Don't...you feel..._anything_-"

"Like _what_?" Confidence crept back into Melina's voice as she gradually grasped that - with this topic, at least - she still held the upper hand. The female vampire let her mouth curl up in a scornful smirk as she arched her head back. "Compassion? _Remorse?" _Now she was the one to shake her head. "Those are _human_ emotions, Dave...and I haven't been human for a _very long time_. Feelings like _that..._they died in me long ago."

She tilted her head to the side, studying her lover with almost thoughtful curiosity. "Poor Dave," Her tone had changed; becoming soft, sweet, almost tender. Normally, the sound of that voice would have been enough to make the big man relent, no matter _how_ furious he was. But for once, Dave could hear what lay _behind _the voice - the lack of empathy, or warmth, or whatever you wanted to call it - making the syllables sound like brittle shards of ice.

Melina went on, unaware that her usual charm wasn't having its desired effect. "Poor Dave," she repeated. "I keep forgetting that you're still so _young_, so _human_." She rose to her feet, closing the space between them, every movement seductive and calculated. "These feelings...in time, they'll fade away...just like everything else-"

She reached up to touch his face, but Dave grabbed her wrist before her fingers could make contact. His dark eyes weren't really staring _at_ her, but rather, _through _her - as though she was a ghost already fading away into nothing. His voice was soft...but every syllable was distinct: "What if I don't want them to?"

Melina blinked in surprise. "W-what?"

This time, the big man's eyes swam back into focus, boring into hers. His words were slow, deliberate; as though she were a very slow child unable to grasp a lesson: "_What if I don't want them to_?'

The female vampire stared at him, her full lips trembling as she struggled for words. A tiny line of frustration materialized between her eyebrows, marring the perfection of her face. "Why?" she managed to sputter. "Why would you _possibly _want to cling to those pathetic-"

She stopped, pausing a moment to collect herself, then tried again. This time, however, there was denial in her tone, _desperation_ - so strange coming from someone who had always maintained such cool control. "No...you're joking. You _have _to be. This...this is just a _game_."

Melina paused again, a smile slipping onto her face - but it was forced, unnatural; more like a mask...or an imitation of life. "Well...I know how _this_ game _always_ ends..." She reached down, and Dave felt her fingertips graze his crotch.

With a low snarl, the big man shoved her away - not as hard as before, but still with enough force to get his point across. "Don't _touch_ me!" He jabbed his index finger toward his sire, his dark irises narrowing dangerously. "Don't _ever_ touch me!"

Melina stared at him, aghast at being rejected, and for just a moment, the vampire side of her melted away, leaving her looking lost, dejected...and _human_. "I don't understand..." the female vampire whispered. She pressed both hands to her chest, the two broken ones looking incredibly out-of-place. "Haven't...haven't I always given you _everything_ you ever wanted?"

Dave stoically returned her gaze, gradually allowing himself a cautious nod. "Yeah...you have."

"Then what-" Melina's eyes filled with tears, making them almost liquid in the dim light. "-what's _wrong_?"

Staring at her, so uncharacteristically devastated, so close to tears - _real_ tears - Dave almost felt sorry for her.

_Almost_.

The big man shook his head. "Nothing's wrong," he replied after a long moment had elapsed. "I just don't want _you_."

Shock flashed across Melina's face, like the fleeting imprint of a slap, and for an instant, Dave could glimpse the woman, the _human_, she had been once upon a time...before the darkness had claimed her and warped her into something vile and unspeakable. But in the next, the female vampire's perfect features twisted with rage, dissolving what little humanity that still existed within her, and bringing the demon once more into full view.

"_You...ungrateful...bastard_!" Melina's voice was a sibilant hiss, like a snake poised to strike. Her ample chest heaved, breath tearing in and out of her lungs at a furious pace, and she pointed at him with her mangled hand, the broken fingers looking more like talons than human digits. "After _everything_ I've done for you; all the times I've _protected _you! I _saved_ you-"

"_Saved_ me?" Dave reiterated derisively. "_You _saved me?" He shook his head. "All you did - all you _ever_ did - was turn me into a monster and throw me into the middle of some goddamn war I never _asked_ to be a part of!"

"Oh, because the life you were leading before was _so_ meaningful!" Melina shot back. She took a defiant step toward her lover. "You were just another human - just another _meathead_ watching a door. Your very _existence_ was worthless - but I _took_ you from that...and I gave you something _more._" Another step. "I _rescued_ you from your _pathetic_ life...and I transformed you into something_ greater-"_

"_No._" Dave interjected curtly. "No...all you did was make me into what you are so that you could feel better about yourself - so that you wouldn't have to look in the mirror and see for yourself just how _ugly_ you are_._" The big man eyed his sire with a look that was lodged halfway between awe and revulsion. "You and I...we're the same...but I'm _nothing_ like you." Looking away, he strode toward the enormous picture window.

"Well, on _that_ at least we _both_ agree!" Melina retorted. Dave could hear her heels sinking into the carpet as she stormed after him. "I wanted someone who could join me on the hunt - so imagine my disgust when you turned out to have no taste for it."

The female vampire made a small contemptuous sound in the back of her throat. "All that _strength_, all that _power_...and yet you mope around here, worrying about the _insignificant_ lives of your _precious_ prey_._" She laughed suddenly, a pealing, mocking sound that was more than just a trifle unbalanced...and Dave found himself wondering if part of the reason Melina had been able to survive for so long had been by allowing herself to go a little bit mad. "When are you going to learn - when are you _ever_ going to learn that we are _better_ than them; that they exist _solely_ so that _we _can survive!"

He could sense her behind her, her very presence palpable, her sultry voice a low tantalizing murmur: "You think that a lion considers the gazelle's meaningless life right before it pounces and eats its fill? Of course not...and neither should _you_."

"That analogy doesn't work anymore," Dave answered, his voice cold. He turned around to face his sire, his massive frame casting hers in shadow. "Animals kill because they _have_ to; because they can't survive any other way. _You_, on the other hand...you kill because you _enjoy_ it."

Melina's expression didn't change; if anything, she looked pleased at the comparison. "You're right," she replied, her tone light. "I _do_. I _love_ it." She stepped closer, until her body was almost pressed against her, a note of near-glee creeping into her voice. "I love watching the fear in their eyes, the moment where they break down and _beg_ for mercy...but most of all...I love seeing that _tiny glimmer of hope_ when they think that I'm going to be merciful this time and let them go - only to watch it die, too, as they eventually realize that there is _no escape_. I love it...because I accept what I am. I _embrace _it."

Her gaze flicked up toward Dave's, a snide disappointment gleaming in their dark depths. "But _you..._with every _breath_, you deny yourself. You deny your _true_ nature, and you _think_ that it makes you _better_...but it only makes you _weak_...because you'll _never_ realize your full potential."

She tiptoed up until her mouth was nearly touching his. "Deep down...in that place inside your heart you don't want to think about...you love it just as much as I do. Whether you want to admit it or not, there's a beast inside you...and that beast is _hungry_...and the more you deny it, the _hungrier_ it gets - until one day, you won't be able to stop yourself from attacking that junkie _whore-"_

"Stop it." Dave whispered through gritted teeth.

Melina, however, was far from finished: "-and all your high-flown morality won't mean _shit_ when you throw her to the ground and _tear her throat out_-"

"That's _enough_!" Before the big man could stop himself, he had clenched his fingers of his wounded arm into a fist, swinging it up and catching Melina in the jaw with all the force he could muster. The female vampire went stumbling back, almost tripping and landing on her ass. Dave immediately winced and grabbed his shoulder. The blow had been just as painful for him; hitting Melina had been like punching a concrete wall.

For a long moment, neither one of them moved; only stood there, regarding each other with wariness and surprise. Eventually, Melina reached up, gently massaging her jawbone. A thin ribbon of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Her expression was unreadable. "I didn't think you had it in you," she remarked. She cast another long look up and down her lover's body. "I'm guessing from the expression on your face that that makes two of us."

"It scares you...doesn't it?" Dave's voice was soft, but devoid of warmth. "Not knowing what I'm going to do next - realizing that you can't _control_ me like you thought you could." Shoving aside the pain, he straightened up, taking a few steps toward his sire. "I'm leaving...though I guess you already knew that...but _this_ time...I'm _not_ coming back."

Melina immediately burst out laughing, the sound once more ringing with that undeniable peal of insanity. "Yeah, right," she scoffed. "How many times have I heard _that_ one before?"

She shot her lover a challenging gaze, and Dave abruptly remembered that now was usually the point where he summoned up the most disparaging remark he could think of before storming out the door in a huff. That was the way the script had always played out before now - but for the first time, Dave realized that it didn't matter _what_ he said. It made no difference if he got the last word, because words were meaningless; the only things that mattered were _actions_.

Melina might not recall what he _said_...but she would always remember what he _did_.

The big man tilted his chin up a little bit. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, he brushed past Melina, headed toward the door.

The female vampire's smirk faded, the realization gradually dawning on her that things were not unfolding according to plan. "Wait...where's you going?" She whipped around, but Dave didn't so much as look back, his steps slow and purposefully as he neared the apartment's egress.

Melina looked around frantically, searching for something, _anything_, that would swing the balance of power back into her possession. "You _can't_ be serious!" Her voice was a harsh jeer...but only on the surface - simmering just beneath it was the unmistakable sound of panic. "She's just a _human_ - what could that damaged junkie skank _possibly_ give you that I _can't_-"

At this, the big man paused, but didn't glance back. "I love her...and I don't love you."

Across the room, he heard Melina suck in a shocked breath, and knew that he had wounded - _really_ wounded - her for the first time. For a heartbeat or two, there was nothing...then: "No...no, you don't. You _can't_! I won't _let_ you!"

Dave heard the sound of superhuman movement, like the faint roar of wind, and whirling around, he saw the female vampire hurtling toward him, her wrath eclipsing her beauty, so that she looked almost like a banshee flying straight out of Hell. She was screaming, the sound of her words nearly unintelligible: "I'll _kill _you! I'll kill you _both_-"

Dave didn't think; there was no time for rational thought. Grabbing a nearby chair, he swung it, much like a ballplayer swinging a bat. The chair hit Melina in the abdomen, splintering on impact and sending her flying back. She crashed onto the floor awkwardly, the thick carpet absorbing most of the blow, but not enough of it to prevent her from gasping out in pain.

The big man was barely aware of what happened next; everything had been reduced down to a blur of rage and basic animal instinct. Snatching one of the broken chair legs off the floor, he pounced on Melina, straddling her tiny body, pinning her to the ground.

Melina's dark eyes widened in terror, and Dave felt the contours of her throat undulate as she gulped, unable to tear her gaze from the jagged end of the chair leg. The big man snarled, his lips peeling back from his fangs. He raised the chair leg over his head...but right before he could send its sharp edges plunging down into Melina's unholy heart, he stopped, the low timbre of his own voice echoing in his head...

_You and I...we're the same...but I'm nothing like you..._

The vampire blinked as the clouds of anger surrounding him slowly evaporated, allowing awareness and rationality to seep back in. Beneath him, Melina's petrified countenance gradually morphed into one of scathing disbelief, as she realized that her immortal life was not about to be cut short so soon. "Well?" she whispered, her tone just as scornful as her expression. "What are you _waiting _for?" In spite of Dave's hold on her neck, she managed to nod her chin toward his makeshift weapon. "Go ahead - _do it_. Be a man for _once_ in your _miserable_ life and _kill _me." There was no response to her dare, and the female vampire's dark irises narrowed a touch. "What's _stopping _you?"

A long minute of silence slunk by, then another...and finally, the big man shook his head. His voice was thick, as though he was clinging to reason with both hands. "Because even now... you still want to prove that I'm as ugly inside as you. And if I kill you...as much as I _want_ to...as much as you _deserve_ it...it'll just prove you _right_ - and there's no way I'm going to let that happen."

Dave relaxed his grip, and the chair leg bounced harmlessly against the floor, inches away from Melina's head. The big man leaned down, as though to deliver a kiss to his sire - but instead, merely remarked: "I'm _done_ being your bitch. Have a nice life." With that, he got up off Melina, turning his back and moving toward the door once again.

The female vampire slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, clutching her bruised neck with one hand. She was clearly shaken by her near-death experience, but still unwilling to give ground; still unwilling to admit defeat. "_Dave_!" Her voice was shrill and trembling, with only a few faint threads of her former confidence. "If...if you walk out that door, it is _over_ between us! Understand? You're as good as _dead_-"

To this, the big man paused, one hand resting on the door knob. His voice, when he spoke, was calm, almost thoughtful: "Is that so? Well, I guess it's fitting...since I'd _rather_ be dead than spend eternity with _you_." Yanking the door open, he disappeared out into the hall.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, the female vampire screamed. Falling back onto the floor, she kicked her feet and pounded her fists against the carpet, unleashing all of her ire in a full scale tantrum.

Eventually, though, her wails of anger gave way to tears, and Melina pressed both hands against her face as she wept. It wasn't fair, _it just wasn't fair_. Throughout the centuries that she'd dwelled in the darkness, she'd had more companions that she could consciously recall. Some she had adored; others, merely tolerated - but the one thing they'd all had in common, no matter how lengthy or how brief their time together had been, was that ultimately...she had always been the one to end it.

The female vampire's eyes suddenly flew open. By vampire standards, Dave was still a newborn; he had yet to live out even a single human lifetime...so what gave him the nerve, the _presumption_ to assume that he could leave _her_?

And for _what_? For some insignificant mortal bitch too stubborn to die? What Miz and Morrison had done to the little cunt alone should have killed her, or at the very least, brought her over to the darkness - it didn't make sense that she had somehow survived with her mortality intact...or that her scarred face and damaged soul would be the very thing that would steal away what was most precious to Melina.

Most humans would have chalked this unlikely series of events to the intervention of fate or karma...but Melina was, by her own admission, no longer human, and well beyond such antiquated and superstitious notions. What most beings, human or otherwise, often failed to understand was that fate was just everything else - in the hands of the right individual, it could be manipulated.

And the female vampire was one of those individuals.

Melina turned her head to the side, her gaze landing on the discarded broken chair leg. She regarded it silently for a long while, turning thoughts over her in her head. Eventually, she pushed her petite frame up into a sitting position. Reaching over, she picked up the leg, holding it daintily in both hands, studying it with a sort of detached curiosity.

The truth was that Dave didn't want her; that he would rather fuck a lowly human than _her_. The truth was that he had wanted to kill her, but ultimately had failed...because he lacked the necessary nerve to take a life, even if that life was hers. The truth was that he was a coward and she was better off without him.

But what was truth, _really_? Was it the actuality of life or was it merely what you saw and heard? Was it something intangible that would always shine through, no matter what...or was it a physical quality that could be manufactured? To Melina, it had always been the latter...because in order to survival, the truth was whatever you decided it to be.

Turning the sharp jagged edge of the chair leg toward her, Melina plunged it into her chest as hard as she could. The pain was indescribable, and she could feel her own flesh tearing as the end of the makeshift weapon emerged through her back. The female vampire released her hold on the leg, falling back onto the floor, her arms spread out on either side of her head.

She wasn't worried; she'd made sure not to aim the wooden shaft toward anything vital, and exsanguination wasn't a threat when you healed quicker than the average human. She would probably pass out, yes - providing just the perfect set piece for Miz and Morrison to discover when they returned home. And when they had yanked the wooden stake from her chest and revived her back to consciousness, she would tearfully tell them the whole awful story about how Dave had burst in her, raving and out of control; how he had tried to kill her, and nearly succeeded...

And then? Well, then the three of them would track down that bastard and his mortal whore, and force him to watch as they tore Mickie limb from limb...

As waves of black washed over her vision and consciousness began to fade away, Melina couldn't help but smile. The truth was what you made it...and she was going to enjoy making Dave pay.


	21. Chapter 21: More Human Than Human

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! Three things: 1) Melina getting released from the WWE is absolute bullshit, 2) If you ever want a cure for insomnia, write a vampire fanfic and try to figure out the goddamned biology of the thing, and 3) I was really worried about this chapter because it could turn out to be an epic fail. Hopefully, it won't be, and you will enjoy it to boot. Okay, off the soapbox now. Enjoy! Peace!**

**I apologize for any medical inaccuracies; I'm not a doctor - I'm just a screenwriter who watched "ER" in college. Don't judge me too harshly, please?**

**Thank you to **AprilGilbert1996, Esha Napoleon, Shandy777, BigRedMachineUK, nikki1335, M Cuevas, Girl on Fire, Nastygrl25, **and **XxxDarkCloudxxX **for reviewing the last chapter! I love you ALL! *big group hug (y'all might as well just huddle up, because this is happening)***

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Chapter 20: More Human Than Human

"_And then you see things the size of which you've never known before..." - Seal, "Crazy"_

Doc Bryan leaned back a little in the hard wooden chair, stroking his bearded chin with one hand. The other gripped a cheap ballpoint pen, the tip of it pressed to a notepad. Normally, the tablet would be covered with a scribbled tattoo of illegible notes, but at the moment, the paper surface remained unusually blank...as though it had become an outward visual indication of its owner's inner bewilderment.

It had taken almost until dawn for him and Gail to finish operating on their mysterious patient; the bullet's path had torn through her spleen, nicking her pancreas and cracking several of her ribs in the process. The nasty thing about bullets was that they had been created with a singular purpose - namely, to tear through and disfigure human flesh without thought or discrimination - and the ones Cena loaded his gun with were designed to take down beings that were notoriously hard to kill.

Bryan had no doubt that they had done all that they could: removing the damaged spleen, repairing torn and lacerated tissue, providing Mickie with transfusions and other fluids to replenish her depleted blood supply. Besides, she was stronger than he had expected - with the added support of an oxygen tube, she was already breathing on her own, and the low beeps emanating from the heart monitor remained slow and steady.

But the doctor's optimism remained guarded. With an injury as severe as this one, there was always the risk of complications - infection, internal bleeding - the signs of which wouldn't manifest themselves until later on. And with those bite marks on her throat; wounds which had become all-too-familiar to Bryan and his particular line of work...there was also the ever-present risk that she could slip down into an entirely different sort of darkness; one which would allow her to return - but one which would also warp the very physiognomy of her being, spitting her back out as a dark mirror of her former self.

The doctor let out an exhausted sigh, covering his eyes with his hand, massaging his temples between thumb and fingers. One of the marks of a good physician was his or her ability to compartmentalize - and Bryan was no exception. Right now, the rational scientist facet of his psyche was gently but persistently reminding him that he needed to get some sleep; that in a few hours, the doors of the clinic upstairs would open and his daytime patients would straggle in one by one - individuals who needed his help even more than the ones he treated by night.

But Bryan instead remained where he was. He had eked out this dual existence as a healer for some time now, and as much as he loved his clinic and his patients; as much as he savored opening the front door each morning and feeling the sunlight wash over his face...he knew deep in his heart that this _place_, this subterranean sanctuary hidden beneath its floorboards, was the location to which he would inevitably return.

And as many times as he told himself that he lived in the light...the truth was that life wouldn't even exist without the one he had in the dark.

A hand touched his shoulder, startling him back to the present. The doctor jerked upright, knocking the pad of paper off his lap and onto the floor. He glanced up, his features relaxing almost immediately when he saw that it was only Gail. "Geesh, you scared me - I didn't hear you come in."

A faint smile flitted at the corners of the Asian woman's mouth. "I knocked - guess you were too wrapped up in your own little world to hear me." The comment was uttered with affection rather than derision, however, and kneeling down, she picked up the notepad, handing it back to the doctor. "I figured...when you didn't come to bed...that I'd find you in here."

She fell silent, both of them looking over to study the prone figure lying in the bed a few feet away. Aside from the red and green LCD lights of the various machines, Mickie's golden-brown hair provided the only color in the tableau; her sole movement the slight rise and fall of her chest as she inhaled and exhaled. Her complexion was ashen, as though all the tubes and needles attached to her, rather than sustaining her life, were instead draining it from her.

Gail sat back on her haunches, resting her elbows on her knees, her expression of almost-amusement abruptly fading. Her dark eyes flicked toward Bryan's, somber and serious even in the faint light. "You can't stop thinking about her either...can you?" It was a remark that said nothing...and everything.

Bryan shrugged, the movement almost helpless. "Can you blame me?" With one hand, he gestured toward their unconscious patient. "I'm still trying to convince myself that I'm not crazy after what I just saw-"

"You're not crazy," Gail interjected quietly. "And if you _are_...then so am I...because we _both_ saw the _same_ thing back in that operating room." She cast her gaze toward the linoleum floor; her tone forceful, as though she was trying to convince herself. "We _both_ saw that wound starting to heal on its own...the whole time we were operating on her...just like she was already a-"

"So why weren't there any other symptoms?" Bryan interrupted, cutting Gail off. The V-word wasn't explicitly verboten within the clinic...but Gail had noticed that the doctor would often go out of his way to avoid its utterance. Bryan went on, gesturing with both hands now. "If she's already starting to spontaneously regenerate, then we should be seeing other signs by now - sensitivity to silver or UV rays, sharper canids - but there was _none_ of that!"

The doctor leaned back in his chair, covering his face with both hands, his voice muffled. "And if her cells are already capable of rapid regeneration, then how is...that other thing...that we found...even _possible_?"

Bryan dropped his hands back down into his lap, staring dully at nothing. "Those scars...on her neck, the rest of her body...they have to be _years_ old." He shook his head slowly. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Gail...but I've _never_ heard of anyone lasting that long-"

Gail's gaze, meanwhile, had drifted upward to focus on Mickie. "Can you imagine? What that must have been like?" Her tone was distracted, as though she was only vaguely aware of the doctor's presence. Slowly, she rose to her feet, moving toward the bed. "Hanging on for that long, not really one thing or the other, and the whole time, not knowing _why_-" She shivered briefly at the thought. "I can only imagine the _pain_-"

"Yeah, well - judging from the track marks on her arms, she found at least _one_ way to deal with it." Bryan's tone was brisk, clinical; the rational side of his brain briefly reasserting control to cope with the situation. "By the way, make sure you mention to Nattie when she comes in - we're going to need to start this girl on methadone as soon as possible."

Gail nodded, her attention still fixed on the unconscious scarred brunette. "Yeah...especially with the..." Her voice trailed off, and she glanced back toward the doctor, her expression questioning. "Cena...do you think that _he_ knows? About _that_?"

Bryan shook his head. "He would have said something if he did - it would have been the first thing out of his mouth as soon as he stepped in the door." He reached up to stroke his chin once more. "My guess is..._no one_ knows."

"Even _her_?" the Asian woman asked, nodding her chin toward Mickie. Her tone was soft...but there was a sort of methodical thoughtfulness laced through it, as though every one of her seemingly innocuous questions was in fact focused toward unearthing a greater truth.

Bryan must have caught the gentle calculation in her voice because he abruptly sat up straighter in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What are you getting at, Gail?" he asked, his tone cautious and filled with more than just a touch of suspicion.

Now it was Gail's turn to shrug nonchalantly. "I'm just saying..._maybe_ the reason no one knows is because...this thing didn't..._exist_...a month ago." She said nothing further; merely glanced over her shoulder, her almond-shaped eyes steadily meeting the doctor's.

Bryan's response was immediate and brief: shock flitted across his features like a shadow across the sun, disappearing as his countenance hardened into something unreadable. His voice, when he eventually did speak, was a low warning: "Gail-"

"Oh, _come on_!" Even though Mickie was on enough morphine to keep her far from the reaches of sensation and consciousness, Gail nevertheless kept her tone low. Whirling around, she stormed toward the doctor, gesturing wildly. "You've said so yourself - the _potential's_ always been there; at this point, it's just a matter of nature figuring out how to bridge the gap!"

She paused, shooting a look back at Mickie. "Well...maybe nature's finally figured out a way." Her gaze swung back toward Bryan. "Maybe the reason she's lasted so long without turning is because she's _stuck_ - maybe there's just enough of _both_ in her to allow the impossible to _happen_-"

Bryan stood, the chair legs screeching harshly against the linoleum and effectively severing the conversation. "Those two have been waiting a long time - I should go update them on her condition." His voice was terse, unemotional. "In the meantime...you keep an eye on her until Nattie arrives, and then you should probably get some sleep." A pause, so short it was almost imperceptible. "We'll talk about _this_ later." He turned to go.

"Daniel?" At the sound of his first name, the doctor hesitated, but didn't look back. "Why don't you believe me?" Gail's tone was resigned, defeated, as though this was an argument she had grown accustomed to losing.

Bryan looked down at the floor for a moment or two. "It's not...that I _don_'_t_," he eventually replied, his voice quiet almost gentle. He glanced back at his assistant, his expression softening. "It's just...if you're _right_..."

For an instant, his gaze drifted toward the unconscious form of Mickie. "...then she's in even more danger than we thought."

* * *

"What do you think his deal is?"

Cena didn't answer; didn't even _move_, but Jeff knew better than to think that his leader was actually asleep. When you spent your existence hunting down creatures who were stronger, faster and - occasionally - _smarter_ than you were, sleep was a luxury that you eventually learned to function without.

In truth, the rainbow-haired man had never viewed it as any sort of great loss. Part of it was due to his inherent overabundance of nervous energy...but part of it also stemmed from his belief that slumber was just another form of hell; a chance for the images and memories locked inside his subconscious to flash unbidden before his eyes, like an unholy newsreel of blood and destruction.

He had heard once that lack of sleep made you crazy, but Jeff was certain that the people who made this claim weren't walking around with the weight of his particular collection of recollections and experiences. That when they closed their eyes at night, they weren't seeing human intestines roped around the Christmas tree like pink and red ropes of garland...or the light glittering off the diamond in his fiancee's engagement ring, the fingers of her severed arm still curled slightly - as though with her dying breath, she had been trying to protect the child inside her...

Jeff would always gladly welcome insanity rather than relive those memories ever again.

On the other side of the room, Jeff heard the soft rustle of crumpled tissue paper on the padded couch as his leader rolled over onto his back. The two Hunters had been relegated to one of the basement clinic's recovery rooms, while they waited for an update on Mickie's condition. Even though the small space was dark, Jeff could still picture his boss perfectly, hands folded over his chest, his blue eyes staring a hole through the ceiling.

A second later, Cena's voice floated through the gloom. "Whose deal?"

"_You know_," Jeff shrugged, even though the gesture was pointless in the dark. "The doc. I mean-" The rainbow-haired man hesitated, struggling helplessly for the words. "-he may _know_ a lot...but he's not like us."

Jeff shook his head. "You, me, Beth, 'Ria...we're _ghosts_, man. But the doc...he's _somebody_. He's got _friends, patients_...people who have no idea who we are or what we do. He's got something other than this life...so why's he risking it all to help people like us?"

Cena said nothing, and for a moment, Jeff thought that his leader had gone right back to ignoring him. But after a second or two, the blue-eyed man spoke, his tone full of the same emotional detachment with which he viewed his work: "I don't know..._how_ long ago it was. The doc was the supervising physician one night at the city hospital ER when, about two in the morning, they wheeled in a DOA. No big deal - just another junkie OD'ing - Bryan officially pronounced him dead, and they sent the body to the morgue."

The leader of the Hunter pack paused. "Only problem was: the junkie wasn't really dead - he was just passing through the final stage of vamp transformation. He came to - killed three people and maimed two others before he eventually escaped."

Even though this tale was nothing compared to the things Jeff had seen in his years as a Hunter, the rainbow-haired man still let out a low awe-filled whistle. "Jesus..."

Cena went on. "Naturally, there was a big stink; a lot of media attention, a lot of rumors - _exactly_ what the vamp community _doesn't_ want. So the bloodsucker bureaucracy stepped in and threw enough money at enough of the right people to make it go away quietly...but ultimately, the hospital still needed a scapegoat, and since Bryan's signature was on the death certificate, he became the sacrificial lamb. He quietly resigned, moved out here, opened up this clinic...I think you know how the rest of the story goes."

Jeff heard the tissue paper rustle again as his leader shifted on the couch. "The doc might not act like it...but he still lost something that night; something that he'll never get back. And in _that_ way...he'll _always_ be like us."

The rainbow-haired man licked his lips, which had inexplicably gone dry. "Did...did they ever find the vamp?"

Another pause, even longer this time...then Cena's voice, flat and unforgiving. "The _authorities_ never found him." And with those five words, Jeff knew immediately that while the police might never have caught up with this particular bloodsucker...someone else _had_.

Without warning, the door swung open, and Jeff's eyes were filled with a blinding brilliance as the overhead lights were suddenly snapped on. The rainbow-haired man sat up, rubbing his eyes with both hands, bright blobs of color filling his vision. "Gah! Jesus _Christ_ - a little _warning_ next time!"

Bryan stared down at him, his mouth twisting up into its familiar lopsided grin. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

"How is she, Doc?" Cena interrupted, sitting up as well, his tone indicating that he was in no mood for witty banter, even if it wasn't directed at him.

The doctor's grin evaporated. "She's stable," he replied, his voice noticeably subdued. "Another twenty-four to forty-eight hours will tell us for sure...but it looks like she'll pull through."

In spite of himself, Jeff couldn't contain a sigh of relief, and as his eyes adjusted to the change in light, he thought he thought he saw Cena's broad shoulders sag slightly.

Bryan glanced down, shifting his weight slightly on the balls of his feet as he cleared his throat. "Listen...Cena - there are some..._things_...about Mickie...that we need to discuss-" Unease had crept into his voice, making him seem more like a teenager asking to borrow the family car than a skilled physician. The doctor shot Jeff a sidelong glance before adding: "-_alone_."

Instantly, Jeff felt annoyance surge upward inside him - after all, while Cena had been leaning out the window playing Dirty Harry, hadn't _he_ been the one actually trying to save Mickie's life? Why was _he _getting banished?

But the rainbow-haired man quickly swallowed the emotion. Regardless of what had happened tonight, Cena was still the leader - and while Jeff might not always agree with his decisions, he would always respect that hierarchy.

Jeff stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets. "No worries, Doc," he remarked, his tone nonchalant. "Mind if I look in on her?"

Bryan - who looked almost relieved that the rainbow-haired man wasn't going to challenge his request - nodded. "I don't see why not. She's in the main recovery room - Gail's with her now. Don't try to wake her; rest is the most crucial thing she needs right now."

Jeff returned the nod. "Sure thing, Doc." Sidling past the physician, he disappeared out into the main area of the clinic.

As soon as the door clicked softly shut behind him, Cena swung his gaze back toward Bryan, his irises like chips of blue ice. "You know..." he began slowly, his voice rumbling with only the faintest hint of irritation. "Whatever you have to say to _me_, you can say in front of _him_."

"Actually...I _can't_." Bryan sat down on the couch recently occupied by Jeff, putting him directly opposite the leader of the Hunter pack. His gaze was neutral...but his eyes were glittering with the heat of barely contained emotion. "I _know _how you are. You seem to think that you're some kind of super hero; that you're wearing some kind of leader mask that you can't let slip for _even one second_...because if you _did_, then your team might see that you're as human as they are."

He slowly shook his head. "Jeff has just as much a right to hear what I have to say...but if I let him stay here, I'll never get the truth out of you."

"And what truth is _that_, Doc?" Cena's tone was almost as deliberately bland as the doctor's, but his azure eyes were full of suspicion.

Bryan's focus didn't waver. "What _really_ happened tonight."

A tiny muscle near Cena's jaw twitched. "I _told_ you what happened," the Hunter pack leader intoned flatly.

"_No_, all you told me was the _facts_," Bryan's tone was just as brutally insistent as Cena's, his own eyes narrowing. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe this 'need-to-know' military crap works with your team...but it won't work with me. The only way I can _help_ Mickie is if I know _everything_...starting with exactly _how_ she ended up with a bullet through her side."

For a heartbeat, Cena's gaze shifted, zeroing in on something that only he could see, and in that moment, a confused combination of various emotions flickered across his face. "I..._told_...you," the Hunter pack leader eventually replied, his deep voice tight with effort. "There was a vamp...I shot at him...Mick got in the way. _That's all_."

"Really?" Bryan's tone was sharp with near-sarcasm. "So this _vamp_...he wouldn't have _anything_ to do with the evidence of recent sexual activity we found on Mickie while we were cleaning her up?" At this, Cena visibly flinched, looking away, covering his mouth with one hand. The doctor pressed on. "She was protecting him...wasn't she? That's how she got shot; she was trying to protect him-"

"God_dammit_, Doc!" Cena sprang to his feet, striding to the far edge of the room. Drawing his fist back, he slammed it as hard as he could against the wall. Bryan winced, but the Hunter pack leader's countenance never altered. Instead, he pressed his forehead against the cinderblock surface, his tone dull, as though he had lost all will to resist. "She begged me, _pleaded _with me to stop, to _listen_. And then...that bloodsucking piece of _shit_...he had the _nerve_ to tell me that he _loved_ her - like a vamp is even _capable_ of something like that."

Cena squeezed his eyes closed; it was obvious that he was reliving the incident in his mind. "I pulled the trigger...and I didn't know Mick could even _move _that _fast_...because all of a sudden...she was in front of me...pushing him out of the way."

The blue-eyed man spun around in a slow circle, slumping against the wall and sinking down into a sitting position. His gaze, when it met Bryan's once more, was something akin to miserable. "Why are you doing this, Doc?" There was no accusation in his voice; only weariness. "I fucked up, I _know_ I did - but what does whatever she and that _suckhead_ were doing have do with this? What does _he_ have to do with _any_ of this?"

"Maybe nothing," Bryan shrugged. "Maybe everything." To this, Cena said nothing; only exhaled deeply. The doctor continued. "Look, I understand that you've had a hell of a night - _but you weren't there in that operating room_. You didn't see a _bullet wound_ the size of my _fist_, not even scorched from the silver that cut through it, trying to heal itself back up as though it was nothing more than a _pinprick_!"

Surprise and some semblance of recognition flitted across Cena's features, but the doctor barely noticed. He was talking faster now, his voice rising in volume and intensity. "That girl you carried in - she's human, and yet, she's _not_ - and the more I look at her, the more I don't understand how she can still be _alive_, let alone have a _child_ growing inside her-"

Bryan stopped, perhaps finally grasping that he had said too much too soon. Cena's face was paper-white, as though all of his natural color had been leached out of it. His voice, when he eventually regained the ability to speak, was a hoarse trembling shadow of its former authoritative self. "_What_?"

The doctor sat back, his body sagging. "Shit," he remarked, more to himself than to anyone else. "Gail was right...you really _didn't_ know...did you?"

"Know _what_?" With effort, the Hunter pack leader struggled to his feet. It took longer than usual; his limbs seemed to have been reduced to water. The breath was tearing out of him in sharp staccato gasps, his lower jaw trembling. "Doc, tell me you didn't just say what I _thought_ I heard you say-"

Bryan sighed. "I didn't want to tell you like this...but I think you need to know." He took a deep breath...and with the utterance of two small words, changed everything.

"Mickie's pregnant."


	22. Chapter 22: Here Is Gone

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! This started out as a quick little character chapter - which it still kind of is - but as it progressed, it got to a point where it took a bunch out of me emotionally. Any-hoo, I hope you all like it. ENJOY! PEACE!**

**Thank you to **nikki1335, Esha Napoleon, Animal Luvr 4 Life, AprilGilbert1996, M Cuevas, SLSheartsRKO, BigRedMachineUK, Girl on Fire, XxxDarkCloudxxX, **and **mindyfan24 **for reviewing the last chapter! Love yas all very much!**

* * *

Chapter 21: Here Is Gone

"_And we wake up in the breakdown of the things we never thought we could be..." - Goo Goo Dolls, "Here Is Gone"_

The first thing Mickie was aware of as she slowly returned to consciousness was the pain.

The sensation in itself was nothing new; after all the abuse she had inflicted on her body over the past three years - physical _and _chemical - it was rare that she _didn't_ wake up in some kind of discomfort. But _this_...this wasn't the soreness inflicted by Randy or the painful aftermath of a heroin binge - _this_ was _different_.

This time, _everything_ ached, as though her entire body had been transformed into one giant exposed nerve ending. But at the same time, she could sense a smothering dullness surrounding her, shielding her from the worst of the agony and deluding what remained into a persistent ache.

Pain meant life...but this deadening haze meant painkillers.

Which meant injury, possibly even life-threatening.

Which meant...that she had just woken up in the wreckage of an entirely new type of catastrophe.

Mickie gritted her teeth as she struggled to concentrate. There were millions of unconnected thoughts and notions bouncing around her skull right now, and in her drugged state, it was taking every ounce of strength she had stored away just to grab hold of the ones that were most important, wrestling them into some kind of coherent logical order.

She could remember everything up until the moment she had lost consciousness - the metallic aroma of blood in the air, the harsh crack of the gunshot, the warmth of Dave's skin beneath her hands as she pushed him out of the bullet's path, and finally, the bright hot spear of pain that followed as the round tore through her side - but at the same time, felt oddly detached from it, as though she had merely been watching an extremely vivid movie starring a girl who looked exactly like her.

The only thing that seemed to connect with any sort of clarity was the memory of opening her eyes and seeing Dave staring down at her; of feeling his fingers brush her cheek. Everything had started to go dim then, but she could still recall the flash of involuntary irritation that had surged through her, briefly eclipsing the pain - just as she still remembered the five words she had managed to spit out right before everything went completely and totally black...

_Run...you stupid bastard...run..._

Everything after that was just hazy scraps of sensation; faint flashes of light and noise in the darkness. And as she lay here, as she heard the confused muddle of reality beyond her closed lids individualize into strange-sounding beeps and whirrs, she pondered over again and again the single determination that had brought her to this point-

What had compelled her, in that crucial half-second, to sacrifice her own life in order protect a bloodsucker's?

The brunette didn't know - in fact, she doubted that she ever _would_ know for certain - and the only semblance of reasoning that she _could_ supply...well, it was the same thought that had dawned on her the instant she had seen the bullet exit the gun, both childlike and reptilian in its instinctive simplicity - that she hadn't wanted Dave to die.

In the back of her mind, Mickie was vaguely aware that it might have all been in vain; that the third shot might have succeeded where the first two failed and reduced Dave to a pile of ash on her bedroom floor. But the brunette pushed the dreadful notion aside, shoving it out of sight into a dark recess of her subconscious. Right now, she could not afford to think about it; could not even consider it as a _possibility_ - because if it _was _true, if her vampire lover and savior was in fact dead...then so was her last golden glittering fragment of hope.

And if _that_ happened...then what would be the point of even waking up?

Taking as deep a breath as she was able, Mickie opened her eyes. Even though the ambiance of the room was dim, almost dark, it was still brilliant enough to dazzle the brunette's preternatural senses, and for a moment or two, she couldn't see anything. Gradually though, her eyes adjusted, and as the blinding blobs of color faded from her vision, she was able to get her first real good look at her surroundings.

Her initial thought was that this is how Neo must have felt when he emerged from the Matrix and got his first glimpse of the real world - all she could see was stocky machines towering over her, emanating soft intermittent beeps, their readouts displaying unfamiliar combinations of numbers, letters, and squiggles. Various plastic tubes snaked downward, like pale ribbons in the dim light, and even though Mickie couldn't see or feel where they ended, she sensed that every single one of them was attached to her.

Her vision abruptly blurred, swam out of focus, and for a few hallucinatory seconds, the brunette felt as though the machines were silently watching her, the impersonal glow of their lights now sentient, the low beeps their quiet conversation as they judged whether she should live or die...

With effort, Mickie turned her head to the side, the normally effortless movement now taking on the grueling exertion of a pull-up...and instantly felt an involuntary jolt of surprise course through her as she saw that she was not the only person in the room.

A young woman, approximately her own age and wearing nurse's scrubs, sat in a chair a foot or two away from the bed. She was pretty, in a wholesome sort of way, her long blond hair pulled back from her face, and she was studying an electronic reading tablet, tapping at the screen occasionally to turn the page.

As Mickie watched, the nurse's blue eyes shifted up perfunctorily - widening almost immediately in astonishment as she realized her patient was awake. The young woman jumped. "Christ, you scared me!" she exclaimed. There was no accusation in her voice - a pleasant dulcet alto - only genuine surprise and a hint of embarrassment.

She closed the cover on her tablet, setting it aside and rising to her feet, peering down at the brunette. "I'm Natalya, by the way - Nattie, for short." A tiny sympathetic smile touched the corners of her lips. "How are you feeling?"

Mickie had every intention of answering the query, but for some reason, when she opened her mouth, the only sound she could muster forth was a loud exhalation of breath and a low unintelligible groan. The nurse's smile twitched, becoming a tad rueful. "I know, I know - stupid question, right?"

As she spoke, Nattie took hold of Mickie's wrist, her fingers expertly seeking out the brunette's pulse. "You've been unconscious for almost two full days - we were worried." Her blue eyes flicked upward, meeting Mickie's. "That's some GSW you sustained. I wasn't there during the surgery, but I read your chart - you're lucky to be alive."

_Where am I?_...Mickie tried to ask, but all that emerged from her throat was a low hoarse "Whaahuungh?", and a second later, that too was silenced as Nattie popped a thermometer into her mouth.

The blond nurse continued talking. "I was just about to head upstairs and get the doctor - I know he wants to check your dressings, see how you're healing, and I'm sure he can answer any questions." The thermometer beeped, and Nattie removed it, studying the readout. "Good, you're back down to normal." Her eyes locked onto the brunette's once again. "You were running a fever for a while - we thought the wound might have gotten infected." She turned to go.

"Where's Dave?" Mickie's voice was so soft that she was sure she had only imagined it - it wasn't until she saw the nurse freeze and look slowly back in her direction that the brunette realized she had actually succeeded in vocalizing the words. She licked her lips - dry as dust and tasting faintly metallic - and tried again: "Where's..."

Just as quickly as it had surfaced, however, her sudden influx of strength drained away, leaving her feeling weak and watery once again, and it was only with the profoundest effort that she was able to spit the final word out, feeling very much like a cyclist pedaling up an extremely steep hill: "..._Dave_?"

Mickie sagged back against the mattress, feeling utterly depleted. Her eyes drifted half-closed...but through the hazy veil of her lashes, she thought she saw a brief flash of nervousness flit across Nattie's pretty face.

The blond nurse opened her mouth, as though she was about to say something - but then instead reached out, pressing her palm against Mickie's forehead. Her skin was cool; her touch soothing, like a balm. "Just rest, okay?" she whispered. "You've been through a lot."

_You have no idea_...Mickie thought to herself, but before she could argue, exhaustion suddenly swarmed over her once again, sending her tumbling back down into oblivion...

* * *

Cena leaned his head back against the wall, rolling his shoulders a little to work out any residual stiffness. Jeff was gone, having returned to base with the van, under the directive that he and the remainder of the team "carry on as normal".

The rainbow-haired man had resisted, naturally, and there had been a moment or two where the two men had very nearly come to blows. But in the end, he had done what he was told - not because he wanted to, and not even because he was following orders...but because once his initial anger had faded, Jeff had recalled the one thing that _every_ Hunter needed to remember:

And that was...that the war never stopped.

Time...that was the _real_ advantage the vamps had; one which was ultimately more devastating than their strength or their speed. It didn't matter how many silver bullets or UV lights you armed yourself with - because as a human being, your time started running out from the moment you were born...while bloodsuckers had all the time in the world.

_That_ was why they - he and the rest of his team - couldn't stop, not for a moment. _That_ was why they continued to press onward; never sleeping, never staying in one place, always moving relentlessly forward, always watching, always _fighting. _

_That_ was why...when one of them fell - no matter _who_ it was - they had to swallow their grief and move on as though nothing had changed; as though that person had never even _existed_. That was the true hypocrisy of being a Hunter - emotion was what fueled you...but it was also the one thing that you inevitably had to forget.

The sound of the recovery room door opening jarred the Hunter back to the present, and he looked up, his handsome impassive face registering nothing as Nattie stepped out.

The blond nurse glanced almost nonchalantly in his direction - like Bryan and Gail, she had become accustomed to Cena's sentry-like presence outside Mickie's room. Her mouth twitched, a smile momentarily appearing and disappearing. "Don't you ever sleep?"

Just like the last half-dozen times she had uttered it, her pale attempt at humor failed to crack a smile from the leader of the Hunter pack. Cena leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees, staring intently at the nurse. "How's she doing?"

Nattie's expression sobered a little; her tone becoming brisk, business-like: "She regained consciousness." Almost immediately, she saw the blue-eyed man start to rise to his feet, and quickly added: "It wasn't for long, though. With all that morphine we've been pumping into her, I'm surprised she even woke up at all-"

"Did she say anything?" Cena's tone was still flat, dispassionate - but nevertheless, Nattie noticed that his voice was softer than usual, and there seemed to be a sort of raw affection tinging the edges of it.

The blond nurse bit her lip, uncertainty briefly flitting across her pretty face. "Not much," she admitted. "Just...she kept asking for someone. Someone named...Dave?" Her eyes slid up to meet Cena's. "Who's Dave?"

The Hunter never said a word - but Nattie saw his muscles tense, saw his lips press together in a thin line, saw what traces of warmth that still lingered in his eyes melt away, until his azure irises were as hard and unyielding as gemstones. "No idea," Cena replied, his voice brusque and toneless - and although there was nothing in his face or demeanor to give it away, the blond nurse somehow _knew_ that he was lying.

The leader of the Hunter pack rose to his feet; at several inches over six feet, he fairly loomed over Nattie. "Is it all right...if I look in on her?"

The nurse stared at him for a long moment, then gradually shrugged. "Sure." She glanced down at her watch. "I was just about to go up and see if the doctor's free. It's almost sundown; he should be closing the clinic by now-" Nattie looked back up. "I know I don't have to remind you, but don't wake-"

Her voice trailed off as she realized that Cena had already gone - the only trace of his departure the recovery room door swinging softly shut behind him.

* * *

Cena's eyes adjusted rapidly in the dim light, and walking over to the bed, he took hold of Nattie's chair, pulling it closer before sinking down into it.

For a long unending moment, he said nothing; only watched Mickie as she slept. Then, slowly, he slumped down in his seat, his muscular frame seemingly losing its definition and its formidability. His face sagged as well, deep lines of grief and pain etching their way across his features, making him look about ten years older than he actually was. The Hunter hung his head, bringing his hands up, pressing the heels of his palms against his eye sockets to push back the sharp sting of tears.

_This_ was the side of him that no one ever saw; not his team, not even Beth - the facet of him that only emerged inside a dead-bolted room with a bullet-scored wall. _This_ was who he _really _was, underneath all the machismo and the discipline and the order - an empty broken man, trapped in the chaos of a destiny that he had never asked for...drowning in the memories of a life that he had lost.

Incapable of saving _anyone_...including himself.

Despite the artifice that he adopted around everyone else, Cena harbored no self-delusions about his own nature - he knew that the capacity in him to love, to _feel_, had died long ago, lost in the wake of the tragedy that had shaped him. And while it was true that he cared about his team - and about Beth most of all - those feelings would always be dull muted echoes of the real thing, unable to penetrate any deeper than the surface stratum of his heart.

But Mickie...for some reason, with her, it had always been different. Cena didn't know how to explain it - it was as though, when Rob had died, that brotherly protectiveness and affection had floated up out his body, melting into Cena's psyche and somehow taking possession of him.

His feelings toward Mickie had never been sexual or romantic or anything deeper than platonic attachment - but at the same time, they were _real_. They had the power to reach him when nothing else could, cutting through the layers of grief and emptiness surrounding him and reminding him that he was still alive; that not all had been lost when _it_ had occurred.

He would fight for her. He would protect her, and he would keep her safe...even if it meant sacrificing his life.

But in the end, he had failed - had failed in every conceivable sense of the word. He had failed to save Mickie from the horror that had ruined her face and stolen her soul. He had failed to reach her, to penetrate any deeper than her outer defenses of bitterness and hostility. He had failed to prevent a vamp from corrupting her mind...and in the end, he had failed to save her from himself.

Cena drew in a deep ragged breath. Not a day went by without him wishing that Rob was still alive - but today was the first exception...because the last thing he wanted Mickie's older brother to see right now was how much of a mess his leader had made of things.

The Hunter let out a bitter choking laugh. "Some leader _I _turned out to be," he remarked to no one in particular. He pulled his hands from his eyes, reaching out to touch Mickie's face, cupping her scarred cheek in his hand. Cena closed his eyes, wishing that he could turn the world back like Superman, spooling back time and leaving Mickie as she had always looked in that photograph Rob used to carry around - happy and innocent and unscarred...

Cena swallowed hard, barely able to breathe past the lump of emotion blocking his throat. His voice, when he eventually _did_ speak, was low and broken:

"Mick...I'm sorry..._I'm so sorry..._wake up..._please wake up..._"

* * *

_She was dreaming about Dave._

_ Part of Mickie knew that she was dreaming; that the sights and sensations unfolding before her were nothing more than cobbled-together figments of her subconscious. But the brunette didn't really care - after all, what was so appealing about reality? _

_ In the real world, there was nothing but loneliness and cold and pain - why shouldn't she lose herself in a made-up one, where there was light and warmth...and Dave?_

_ He was holding her - no bullet wound in his shoulder, only smooth unblemished skin - and there was sunlight washing down over them both, smothering them in its light and heat, but there was nothing strange about that, because they were in a safe place, where nothing could touch them._

_ Nothing could touch them-_

"Mickie, wake up,"

_At the sound of the voice, Mickie felt the walls of the dream shudder, start to dissipate, as the unrelenting pressure of reality began to seep back in. The brunette clung to her vampire lover, pressing her face against his chest, praying that if the dream DID disappear, then she vanish right along with it - because she didn't want to go back to that world. She didn't want to return to where it was dark and cold; she didn't want to wake up in a place where Dave wasn't next to her._

_ She didn't want to; SHE DIDN'T WANT TO-_

"_Please_, Mick,"

_Mickie dug her fingers into Dave's back, trying to hold onto him with everything she had, but it was too late; he was melting away, too-_

_ -_and just like that, Mickie found herself back in the world of the real, the pleasant trappings of the dream evaporating like condensation on a window, and cold hard reality taking its place.

The brunette moaned softly, trying to slip back into that wonderful fantasy - and for a moment, it seemed to that she had partially succeeded; despite her wakeful state, some elements of the dream had lingered on: the feeling of Dave's hand on her face, the low timbre of his voice-

"Mickie? Can you hear me?"

-only it _wasn't_ his voice, not quite; there was something..._different_...about it; something which, in her semi-conscious state, she couldn't put her finger on-

Mickie opened her eyes slowly. Just like before, her vision momentarily swam out of focus, and all she saw at first was the dim muscular outline of a man. The brunette felt her breath catch in her throat. "_Dave_?" she whispered, her voice raspy...but still holding the faintest trace of hope. "Is that..._you_?"

In the next instant, however, her sight cleared, and Mickie felt something inside her chest lock up painfully as she realized that it _wasn't_ Dave staring down at her...but rather, the man who had put a bullet in his shoulder.

The man who had _almost_ put a bullet in his head, as well...and in doing so, had put her in this bed.

Mickie flinched, jerking away from his touch. "What are you doing here?" she spat. Her voice was weak and quavery...but there was no masking the anger it contained.

Cena's face didn't change, but Mickie thought she saw a tiny muscle near his jaw jump. "Mick-" the lead Hunter began, reaching toward her once more.

"Don't _touch_ me!" the brunette interrupted, pulling away as far as her weakened state and the confines of the bed would allow. Instantly, white-hot pain ripped through her side, like a blossoming flower composed entirely of flame, but she merely gritted her teeth and swallowed it down, her brown eyes narrowing as she stared accusingly at the leader of the Hunter pack. "_You...shot...me_."

In spite of himself, Cena's eyebrows came together in an exasperated frown. "I was aiming for _him_ - you got in the way-"

Mickie had no idea where she found the strength to struggle up to her elbows, let alone summon up enough saliva to spit a huge glob of it right back into his face. "Oh, so it's _my _fault, then?" the brunette shot back bitterly. She sucked in a sharp painful breath. "_Fuck _you."

Off to the side, one of the monitors began to beep more insistently, the smooth steady lines on its screen becoming sharper, more jagged. Cena shot a concerned glance in its direction. Mickie's focus, however, remained on the lead Hunter. Her voice was a harsh whisper: "_Where's Dave_?"

At this, Cena froze, his expression hardening. His gaze slid back toward Mickie - but his eyes never really met hers. The brunette felt her chest grow tight, making it difficult to just get the words out: "_Where is he_?"

Still nothing...and deep inside, Mickie felt some small part of her heart stop beating and shatter. "No..." she whispered, her voice breaking. "You...you killed him."

A moment, a _heartbeat_, of silence...then: "_You killed him_!"

The words burst from Mickie in a shrill scream, and she swung her hand up, her fingers curved into claws. The motion caused her IV line to tear free, yanking the needle out of her skin and sending dark red blood coursing down her arm. But Mickie didn't notice; she was too busy screaming, forcing the syllables out with what remained of her strength: "_You killed him! You killed him_-"

Pain tore through her side; sharper and more intense than before. Her head was throbbing; it felt like it was about to explode. She was vaguely aware of Cena grabbing her wrists, trying to push her back down on the mattress. But the brunette didn't care; didn't care if her entire body erupted into a shower of red mist. There was no reason to live anymore, no reason for _anything_ anymore - and if she was going to die, then she was going to die fighting.

The door opened, and Dr. Bryan stepped in, followed closely by Nattie. His eyes widened as he took in the scene: his formerly unconscious patient now fully awake and fighting, and the Hunter by her bedside, trying to hold her down.

The doctor let out his breath in one single exasperated exhale. "Oh, _hell_." He shot a distracted glance back toward his assistant. "Nattie - sedative." The blond nurse complied instantly, ducking back out of the room.

Bryan strode across the room, the edges of his white coat flapping, wedging himself bodily between Cena and Mickie. He shot an annoyed glance in the lead Hunter's direction. "What the hell did you _do_?" Without waiting for an explanation, he turned back toward Mickie, his countenance and voice softening as he attempted to calm the hysterical brunette. "Mickie? I'm Dr. Bryan. I need you to stop screaming and squirming around like that - you're going to tear your sutures."

He reached out toward her, but Mickie shrank from him as well. Her brown eyes stared through him, as though he wasn't even there. "You _killed_ him!" she cried again, and Bryan realized that she was still addressing the leader of the Hunter pack. Her whole face sagged abruptly. "I _hate_ you-"

The last word was swallowed up by a sudden fit of coughing, and Mickie bent down over as she struggled to regain control of herself. The sound of the spasms took on a wet liquid-like sound, and Bryan sucked in a sharp breath as he saw specks of blood appear on the white sheet.

Nattie suddenly materialized next to him, syringe in hand. Bryan took it from her, grabbing hold of Mickie's arm and searching for a vein. The brunette didn't resist - the coughing fit had taken what little remained of her strength, and all of her attention was still aimed at Cena. The doctor located a vein, stuck the needle in, drove the plunger home. Mickie twitched a little as the needle pierced her skin, but otherwise, gave no other response.

Grunting a little with exertion, Bryan pulled Mickie back toward the center of the bed, rolling her over onto her back. It would have been easier with Cena's help, but the doctor didn't ask - he didn't want to run the risk of sparking another episode. He gently pushed Mickie's golden-brown hair back from her face; her lips were bright with blood. Without thinking, Bryan pulled out his handkerchief, dabbing gently at her mouth.

Mickie's eyes were still locked onto Cena, as though she could burn a hole through him with the sheer power of her gaze. Bryan felt her lips move beneath the fabric. "Why did you kill him?" All the anger had dissipated from her tone, leaving only agony and misery. "Why-"

"He got away." Cena's voice was almost as soft as Mickie's. Turning back to look, Bryan saw the lead Hunter slumped against the wall, staring off at nothing. There was a sort of grudging in his tone, as though by speaking, he was violating some sort of personal code.

Behind him, the doctor heard Mickie gasp softly. "W-_what_?"

As Bryan watched, Cena looked up, his blue irises fastening onto Mickie's with the same sort of anguished intensity. "He got away." A pause. "He's _alive_, Mick."

Feeling very much like a spectator in a tennis match, Bryan looked back toward his patient. The brunette's expression was an amalgamation of emotions: distrust and hope and fear and happiness all rolled into one. "He...he's _alive_?" Mickie murmured. "Dave's _alive_?"

"There now, you see?" Bryan interjected quickly, grateful that the situation seemed to be heading back toward normalcy. "Everything's fine." Tenderly, he pulled the covers up over Mickie, tucking them carefully around her. "Now, you rest - all right? No more hysterics. It's not good for you right now - and it's _certainly_ not good for the baby-"

As soon as the words popped out of his mouth, the doctor saw Mickie's expression sag in shock and bewilderment, and in the back of his mind, he remembered thinking: _You know, it's a good thing Gail and I never bet money on these "intuitions" of hers - otherwise, she'd win every time..._

"B-baby?" Mickie frowned, licked her lips, tried again. "What baby?" Then, all at once, Bryan saw it bloom on her face - the comprehension, the awareness, the _realization_ that her life had forever changed. "You mean I'm _preg_-"

Her voice faded off as the sedative took effect, her brown eyes drifting closed as she once more lapsed back into unconsciousness.


	23. Chapter 23: Coming Up From Behind

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! Sorry about the wait; I've been working on a new script, which has been dominating all of my time. But I never stop thinking about this story, or any of my others, which is why I stopped everything to write a new chapter. Bear with me if there's not a lot of action; I've been trying to go for more subtlety with this story. Oh, and doesn't worry; I haven't forgotten about Dave. With that in mind...PEACE! ENJOY! **

**Thank you to **DaniBoo511, AprilGilbert1996, Shandy777, Esha Napoleon, BigRedMachineUK, HBKHHHluva101, Girl on Fire, nikki1335, **and **Casper5084 ** for reviewing the last chapter. I love you ALL! **

* * *

22: Coming Up From Behind

"_This world will never be/What I expected/And if I don't belong/Who would have guessed it?..." - Three Days Grace, "Now Or Never"_

Cena paced relentlessly across the small main area of the basement clinic, running both hands over his close-cropped hair. Almost two hours had passed since Mickie had woken up; two hours since she had opened her eyes and, in her initial drugged disorientation, had mistaken him for someone else - some_thing_ else.

_Dave?...Is that you?..._

While the other events of the past few days had been reduced to a kind of incomprehensible haze - the shooting, the frantic car ride to the clinic, even the news of Mickie's pregnancy - for some reason, that handful of minutes inside the basement clinic's recovery room had taken on the persistent clarity of unwanted memory. He could still remember every image, every sound; the way each emotion and feeling had bloomed forth before fading into the next.

For instance, the moment when the confused light in Mickie's brown irises had died away - replaced by icy recognition...followed by accusation...then _anger_. Or the way she had lashed out at him physically, her tiny body somehow infused with a strength and a fury that it should not have possessed in its wounded state. Or the way that same rage had given way to bewilderment and vulnerability as she gradually realized that there was a new life growing inside her.

_Baby?...What baby?...You mean I'm preg-_

Everything after that had lapsed into another indecipherable blur - Bryan had shoved the lead Hunter out into the waiting area, under the directive to _stay put_, while he and Nattie wheeled the scarred brunette into the operating room for emergency surgery.

Cena, for the most part, had let him - he was still too shaken by what he had seen, his exhausted mind replaying that brief hiccup of time over and over again, like a loop of video stuck on repeat. The emotions simmering in the depths of Mickie's eyes; the recrimination, the defiance, the _hatred_ - and the _look_ she had given him during that fleeting moment when she was convinced that Dave was dead; the sort of teetering desperation that emerges right before tumbling down into despair...

The lead Hunter didn't know for certain - the nuances of that night were already beginning to escape him - but he was almost sure that he had seen an eerily similar expression on the vampire's face; had heard it in his voice right before he had pulled the trigger-

_Don't blame Mickie...for this...I love her..._

Cena ground to an abrupt halt, spinning around and slumping against the wall. He had no idea how many vamps he'd killed over the years; how many times he'd pulled the trigger and ended their unholy existence...but he had exterminated enough to know that, in the end, they were all the same.

For the most part, bloodsuckers were arrogant creatures, so convinced of their own invulnerability that they truly believed themselves to be indestructible. In fact, the one emotion that Cena most often glimpsed during their final moments was surprise; disbelief that even their own immortality had an end.

There was nothing noble about vampires. They might _look_ human; might possess human intelligence, and perhaps even a smattering of emotions...but deep down, they were just animals - beasts whose primary instincts were to hunt, to feed, to _kill_. Empathy, compassion, _self-sacrifice_ - those things were nothing more than flashes in the darkness for them; half-remembered stirrings of what it had felt like being human.

Most importantly...vampires didn't love. They were _incapable_ of love.

So why, during what he had to have thought were his last few seconds in this world, had Dave chosen to express the one sentiment he couldn't possibly feel - toward the one person who had no reason, no _cause_, to love him back?

More than anything, Cena wanted to believe that Dave had just been lying through his teeth - that he would have said _anything_ just to save his own skin. But then why, instead of escaping during that half-second of paralysis following the gunshot, when everyone was too stunned to move, had the vampire taken the time to catch her before she fell; to cradle her in his arms and lower her to the floor?

Was it possible that Dave's declaration of love...had been..._the truth_?

Cena let out a low groan, reaching up to cover his face with both hands. He felt like he was losing his mind. He knew that his discipline, his ability to compartmentalize and distance himself was the sole thing keeping him sane right now - but detachment only goes so far; there's only so many emotions and fears you can shove away into little dark holes out of sight and mind.

Especially when the things you've seen start to attack the core principles of what you've built your entire existence upon.

As a Hunter, he had no choice but to view the world in shades of black and white; he couldn't afford to allow for gray areas. Mickie was his one exception, the one blur in the strict line of demarcation he had drawn through his world - and in the end, it had all blown up in his face.

After this, Cena couldn't afford to make any more mistakes; to relax the boundaries of separation any more than he already had. So it didn't matter whether the flickers of tenderness he had seen in Dave's face were real...because either way, the big man was still a _vampire_.

Which made him _the enemy_.

Which meant that, the next time Cena saw that jacked-up son of a bitch, he was going to blow his goddamn head off.

The faint creak of the swinging door cut through the torturous monotony of his thoughts, thankfully jolting him back to the present. The lead Hunter lifted his head, watching wordlessly as Bryan emerged from the operating room. The doctor looked exhausted, and the white lab coat he had hurriedly thrown on over his surgical scrubs couldn't quite conceal the flecks and splatters of blood on the blue fabric.

Cena slowly rose to his full height, letting his arms fall back down to his sides. As soon as he did, Bryan froze, his gaze sweeping warily over the lead Hunter. For a long moment, the two men silently regarded each other - one a killer, the other a healer - before Cena eventually cleared his throat. "How...how is she?" His voice was low, but not soft enough to mask the thickness of emotion.

Across the room, he saw Bryan's face twitch slightly, as though he was biting the inside of his lip. "Stabilized," the doctor admitted after a second or two. "Even with her accelerated healing, that tantrum she threw still tore her sutures right open, forced blood up into her lungs - if we hadn't gotten her in the OR as quick as we did, she might have bled out internally."

"And the baby?" Cena's voice was still soft, his azure irises fixed on a point beyond the doctor's shoulder, as though he couldn't even bring himself to look Bryan in the eyes.

Another tiny facial tic. "As far as I can determine, the fetus is fine." Cena could feel the weight of the other man's gaze pressing against his skin. "Though it's probably some kind of small miracle all that thrashing around didn't cause a miscarriage."

Another uncomfortable stretch of silence followed his terse remark. Gradually, the lead Hunter swallowed hard, turning his head slightly to meet the physician's eyes. "Look...Doc, I'm sor-"

"I don't want to hear it," Bryan snapped. At the sound of the doctor's voice - so uncharacteristically cold and angry - Cena obediently stopped talking. The physician crossed both arms over his chest, nodding his chin toward the reinforced exit door. "I want you out of here."

The bones in Cena's face pulsated as his expression morphed from stoic to shocked, his blue eyes nearly bulging out of his skull in surprise. "W-_what_?" the lead Hunter finally managed to sputter.

"You heard me," Bryan's tone was brusque, containing not even a trace of his normally ebullient demeanor. "I want you out of this clinic - I don't want you _here_ when she wakes up."

Before he was fully aware that he was doing so, Cena had crossed the room, looming over Bryan, the words tearing out of him in a furious growl: "Now you listen, Doc-"

"No, _you_ listen!" Bryan shouted, cutting the other man off. He stared up at the lead Hunter with absolutely no intimidation, his eyes bright with indignant frustration. Without taking his eyes off of Cena, he jabbed his index finger at the door. "I don't tell you what to do out _there_ - so you damn well don't tell _me_ what to do in _here_!"

To this, the lead Hunter had no response, so he merely glowered at Bryan, his face flushed with sullen rage. The physician went on. "I _tried_ to play by your rules, all right? I didn't ask questions when you brought in a _pregnant_ girl who's already on the wrong of the transformation spectrum, with a bullet wound that _you admit_ to putting into her - I just kept my mouth shut and patched her up, like I always do."

Bryan cocked his head to the side, still studying Cena. "But when I walked into that room tonight, the first thing I saw was her trying to gouge your eyes out." His eyes narrowed slightly. "I saw it in her face - she would have killed you if she could, even if it would have killed her in the process."

The doctor took a deep breath. "I don't know what kind of history there is between you two - I don't _want_to know. All I _do_ know is that with all she's been through already, the last thing Mickie needs right now is another stressor."

"So...what?" Cena's voice was harsh, almost sarcastic. "_You__'__re_ throwing me out?" The lead Hunter shook his head. "I can't do that, Doc; Mickie _needs protecting_-"

"From _what_?" Bryan shot back. "So far, the only thing she seems to need _protecting_ from is _you_!"

Immediately, the color of Cena's face deepened from pink to red, and in the back of his mind, Bryan was vaguely aware that he might have gone too far. However, the doctor barreled on anyway. "_Look_, I _know_ what you and the rest of the team think of me; of what I do. You think that I hide behind my medical degree and my Hippocratic oath, and use them as an excuse to keep from fighting. And to a certain degree, you're _right_ - I'm _not_ out there like you are; I don't _see_ the things you see."

Bryan paused for a second. "But don't you _ever_ think for one goddamn second that you're the only one who's ever had to make a difficult choice."

The silence stretched out between them, but Bryan didn't look away; didn't so much as _blink_. Eventually, the color in Cena's face returned to normal, and he moved back a step. "Whatever you say, Doc," There was no acquiescence in his tone; only a kind of dull scorn. His blue eyes flicked toward the door. "Can I have my guns back?"

Bryan peered at the lead Hunter for a second or two longer, before finally shrugging. "Sure." Edging past Cena, he walked over to the far side of the room, pausing in front of a large metal locker. The doctor had a strict "no weapons" policy within the walls of the clinic; any Hunter who entered had to disarm and stow their gear inside the locker, to which Bryan had the only key.

Digging a thick ring of keys out of his pocket, Bryan selected one and inserted it in the lock, opening the door with a SCREECH of metal. Using both hands and grunting a little with exertion, he extracted Cena's gun holster and tossed it to him. The lead Hunter easily caught it one-handed. "Much obliged, Doc," His voice was still flat, still unemotional. Fastening the holster around his waist, he turned toward the door.

"Look, Cena-" At the sound of his name, the leader of the Hunter pack paused, but did not turn around. Bryan's expression sagged a little, and he let out his breath in a sigh. "I know...that you still think of Mickie as human - you wouldn't have brought her here if you didn't."

The doctor took a deep breath. "But at some point, you're going to have to accept the fact that she won't always be. _At some point_, you're going to have to _accept_ that there is a _disease_ inside her, claiming her bit by bit - and that it's that same disease, more than you, more than _me_...that saved her life."

For a heartbeat or two, he thought that the lead Hunter was going to say something. But Cena instead merely squared his shoulders, unbolting the door and disappearing out into the night.

* * *

"Hey, Boss?"

Randy looked up from his desk, his emotionless expression registering not even the faintest flicker of interest at the sight of Cody standing in the doorway. Setting down his pen, he folded his hands together on top of his desk, staring wordlessly at his subordinate.

Cody shifted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet, ducking his head as he struggled to find the words. "Just wanted to let you know: Ted and I are all finished out here-"

"What do you want - a cookie?" the Viper's Pit owner interrupted, his deep voice rumbling with barely concealed mocking.

Cody flinched at the barb, but nevertheless pressed on: "No...I, um..._we_ were just wondering...if there's anything else...you need us to do."

To this, Randy said nothing; merely favored his employee with a probing stare that made Cody feel as though he was in one of those full-body scanners at the airport. After what seemed like an eternity, the Viper's Pit owner leaned back in his chair, crossing both tattooed arms over his chest. "Go on, then. I'll lock up when I leave."

"Sure thing, Boss," Cody turned to go, then stopped; shoving his hands into his pockets and shuffling his sneakered feet against the scuffed wooden floor. "It's just that...Mickie-"

At the mention of the scarred brunette, Randy froze, his temples twitching as he clenched his teeth. Cody barreled on, either completely oblivious to the raging storm gathering before him, or else totally aware and wanting to escape as soon as possible. "-do you really think...that she's _alive_?"

"It doesn't matter what I think," Randy interjected. Leaning forward, he picked up his pen once again. "If she lives, fine. If she _dies..._well, then, it's one less problem for me to worry about." The Viper's Pit owner glanced nonchalantly down at his paperwork again. "Any other stupid questions you need answering?"

From the doorway, he heard Cody sigh - a sound of utter defeat. "No, Boss." A pause. "See you tomorrow." Randy didn't even so much as look up as he left; merely listened to the sounds of footsteps as they headed toward the back door. It wasn't until the footsteps faded away, followed by the loud CLANG of the door slamming shut, that the Viper's Pit owner sat back up. Reaching into his top desk drawer, he pulled out two small objects and tossed them onto his desktop.

One was the bullet casing he had found in Mickie's apartment, and the other...was a bullet from her gun. Different calibers, different weapons, but yet, they shared one similarity - namely, the four-letter insignia etched into their casing.

_RN/FL_

With one hand, Randy carefully set each bullet on its base, arranging them in a straight row before leaning back in his seat to study his handiwork. For a long time, he stared at the two pieces of ammunition without moving, his azure irises bright and merciless - all the while, his mental gears ticking, ticking, ticking...

One of the necessities of doing business with vampires meant knowing who their enemies were and how much of a danger they posed. Over the years, Randy had encountered a lot of Hunters, and tended to classify them into one of three groups. There were amateurs, there were thrill-seekers-

-and then there were groups, like Cena and his team, who were fucking _legendary_.

Randy had never actually seen Cena or any of his teammates - but he had heard stories. How they were like ghosts, drifting from place to place. How you never saw them until it was too late. And most importantly - how they were fucking _surgeons_ when it came to killing, their methods both brutal and effective.

This group...they weren't flashy. They weren't out to make a name for themselves. Their goal, their _sole__purpose_, was to arrive, exterminate, then move on - and let the destruction they left in their wake tell its own story. The sheer fact that they had been _here_, in this city, for weeks, possibly even _months,_ without his knowledge was just a testament to their skill.

So then...where exactly did Mickie James fit into all of this? What connection did one damaged junkie have with the fucking New York Yankees of the Hunter world...and why had they been in her apartment?

The average person would have chalked it up to mere coincidence; that the Hunter pack had simply been in the right place at the right moment, and had doled out assistance where they saw fit...but Randy was _far_ from average, and had long stopped believing in coincidence.

Which was why, after finding that bullet casing, he had popped out the magazine of Mickie's gun to examine her ammunition...and somehow, was not at all surprised to find that same sequence of letters carved on each silver bullet.

_RN/FL_

Randy reached out, scooping up the pieces of ammunition and examining them with a sort of detached fascination. Whatever link his scarred plaything had to this particular pack of Hunters, it was strong - stronger than a mere acquaintance. For someone who didn't take chances, Cena was taking a big one by protecting one messed-up little halfling.

Which meant that she was..._special._

Which meant that she was..._a weakness._

Randy abruptly pushed his chair back, the legs screeching against the wooden floor. Right now, his main goal was to locate Mickie, if she was even still alive. If she _was_, and he could get his hands on her...then it could lure a lot of folks out of the woodwork.

Cena and his team, for one...but also, possibly...one big, dumb brute named Dave.

But first, he had to _find _her - that was the _real_ trick. Despite what he had told Cody, Randy knew that Mickie was still alive, _had_ to be - the Hunters would have left her body if she hadn't. But at the same time - they wouldn't have risked taking her to a hospital; doing so would garner too much attention, too many _questions_.

Which meant that they had to have found a third option - somewhere they could receive medical care without anyone finding out about it-

Randy froze as the notion abruptly washed over him. _Of course_. Why hadn't he thought of there before?

The Viper's Pit owner smiled. He knew _exactly _where to start looking.


	24. Chapter 24: Long Way Down

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! Sorry for the wait - I've been mulling this chapter around in my mind for a while. I swear to God, it's the last character chapter - after this, shit will actually start happening. Thank you for bearing with me on my numerous tangents. ENJOY! PEACE!**

**Thank you to **Esha Napoleon, AprilGilbert1996, Shandy777, Animal Luvr 4 Life, nikki1335, Girl on Fire, **and **BigRedMachineUK **for reviewing the last chapter! I love you ALL! *hugs***

* * *

Chapter 23: Long Way Down

"_Almost human, but I'll never be the same..." - Goo Goo Dolls, "Long Way Down"_

They called him Hacksaw.

No one knew where the nickname came from, or what his name had been prior to his life on the streets, or what his strange moniker had to do with the weathered old wooden two-by-four he toted around everywhere he went - but it was what the grizzled old homeless man preferred to be addressed by, and so everyone just left it at that.

In the itinerant community, "crazy" was a word that didn't get tossed around very often - in a way, they were _all_ crazy; you _had_ to be to make the streets your home. And despite his handful of personality quirks, if there had been a way to gauge rationality among the city's fragmented homeless population, Hacksaw would have ranked as one of the sanest.

The old man might be unforthcoming about his origins, but he was fair-minded, decisive, caring, and above all, fiercely and protectively loyal. More than that, he could still hold his own in a fight - as many unscrupulous individuals had found out the hard way by threatening him or his extended "family". That board he carried had caused more than its fair share of broken bones and missing teeth.

In Hacksaw's mind, however, the reason behind his reticence was so simple that it required no explanation. When your entire existence was uncertain, you couldn't waste time thinking about what you had lost - that wouldn't keep you alive. Instead, you had to focus on the now, focus on the future, focus on getting you and the ones you cared about through another season intact-

And pray that the darkness wouldn't swallow you up.

In all the years he had spent out on the street, Hacksaw had seen a lot, and as a result, had boiled his view of the world down into two groups of individuals - day people and night people. Day people were the ones with jobs and homes and cars, with names and faces; the ones who lived their lives in the light without thought or care of the sickness lurking beneath their world's pristine surface.

Night people...were everyone else - the drug dealers peddling their poison, the prostitutes hawking their flesh on street corners, the homeless who emerged once the sun went down to scrounge from garbage cans. They were the nameless, the faceless - the first ones to disappear, and the last, if ever, to be mourned.

Hacksaw preferred the night - it allowed him to avoid altogether that bright, bustling world he had once come from - but at the same time, he had to be cautious...because night was also when the monsters came out.

The old man shifted a little on his makeshift cushion of cardboard, grimacing a little as sharp bolts of pain shot through his left knee. He wasn't getting any younger, and he was finding it harder and harder to sit still for hours on end. But Hacksaw merely gritted his teeth and forced the discomfort back, leaning forward slightly. The day he started complaining about a little back pain would be right after the paramedics had pried his two-by-four out of his cold dead hands.

He was camped out in an alleyway, safely ensconced behind a cardboard lean-to that simultaneously afforded him a clear view of the street ahead and shielded him from the sight of any possible passing police patrols. His two-by-four lay across his lap, one gloved hand resting lightly on its weathered surface, ready to clutch it in a death grip should the need arise.

Even though it had been ages since the last time he had had access to a calendar, Hacksaw could still discern that autumn was already upon them - the wind funneled down the narrow passage from the main street carried that first icy bite of the wintry months to come. But there was something else in the air as well - something which cut through his layers of threadbare clothing more keenly than the wind did.

Hacksaw didn't quite know how to describe it; it was like the scent of blood - out of place, and bringing with it the faintest whiff of danger. There was _something_ unnatural out there, moving through these streets like a noxious gas, ready to wrap itself around the weakest souls it could find and extinguish their existence like a candle flame snuffed between thumb and forefinger.

That was why he was here, shivering in the open air instead of safe and warm in his family's hideout. That was why, instead of sleeping, he was keeping watch, ready to do battle - and that was why he would remain here, all night if necessary, until _all _of his family came back safely.

The old man heard the soft sound of surreptitious movement behind him and tensed, his gnarled fingers closing subtly around the span of the board. He sensed a presence at his side, followed by the faint creak of joints as they settled down next to him. Hacksaw relaxed, letting his breath out in one slow exhale. He did not turn; merely slid his gaze back toward the new arrival. "Evan."

He heard the other man let out a soft gasp of surprise, followed by a tentative: "How...how did you know it was me?"

This time, Hacksaw _did_ turn, fixing the younger man with a look of stern affection. "Who else would it be?"

Evan laughed nervously. With his tiny build and youthful features, he looked younger than his twenty-eight years. He had been addicted to meth when Hacksaw had first found him, and although he had managed to quit the drug since then, he still hadn't quite lost the emaciated appearance and twitchy mannerisms of the habitual user.

The young man reached up, scratching his face absently, pushing his gray knit cap back slightly to reveal his short spiky dark hair. "Yeah...I guess you're right."

Hacksaw turned back toward the street. "How's Truth?"

He could almost hear the sound of Evan shrugging helplessly. "Not good. He was really bad today - ranting about how the little Jimmies were out to get him-"

"Did you give him his meds?" Hacksaw's tone was gruff, but not unkind.

The young man nodded. "Yeah, I did - and I checked to see if he really took them, just like you taught me. But, Hack-" Evan faltered for a moment before going on. "-Truth...he's getting worse - I don't know how much longer we're gonna be able to care for him like this-"

"What do you suggest?" Hacksaw turned around, fixing his younger vagrant compatriot with a glare. "Take him to one of those state-run psychiatric hellholes?" The old man shook his head. "Truth won't even come to the surface anymore - and even if we somehow got him up here...they'd take one look at him and turn him away."

Hacksaw turned his gaze back toward the patch of deserted street visible at the mouth of the alley. "At least...here...he's with people who care about him."

Behind him, he heard Evan let out a resigned sigh. "I guess so..." There was a pause, then: "So...Serena's still not back yet?"

Now it was the older man's turn to shake his head. "No...and I'm starting to worry. She's _never_ this late."

Evan anxiously scratched his cheek once again. "You think...that something got her?" It was an innocuous question...but uttered with a fearful seriousness that sent a chill ricocheting down all the way to the marrow of Hacksaw's bones. When you were a night person, you ran the risk of encountering numerous types of beings that only emerged when darkness fell. Some of them were human.

Some...were _not_.

The old man shook his head again, the motion filled with a sort of desperate denial. "I don't know," he admitted, after a long tense moment of silence had elapsed.

His hand closed around the two-by-four. "I _hope_ not,"

As soon as the words had floated from his mouth, however, the two men heard the rapid patter of boot heels on pavement, and a split second, a young woman sprinted into the alleyway, panting for breath. Her fishnet stockings, shiny miniskirt, and corset top identified her as part of the local prostitute community, and her dark hair was shaved close to her skull - the end result of a recent lice infestation. A cloth bag of groceries - bread, milk, canned foodstuffs - was slung over one shoulder.

Hacksaw immediately struggled up to his feet, using his two-by-four for support; Evan followed suit. "Serena, over here!"

The young woman turned, her delicate features relaxing in relief when she saw the two men. "Thank God you're here," She stepped toward the pair, bringing the bag down to her side as she talked. "Sorry I'm late; this two guys ambushed me as I was coming out of the convenience store-"

Hacksaw frowned, his grizzled face creasing in concern. "Did they hurt you?"

Serena shook her head. "They grabbed my arm, tried to get me into their car - but I kicked one of them and ran. They chased me, but I think I managed to lose them a couple blocks back-"

Before the sentence was even out of her mouth, however, a powerful hand closed around her throat, cutting off her words. Its owner - a tall, intimidating bearded man, his long dark hair twisted into dreadlocks - emerged fully into view, looming down over Serena as the young woman gagged and choked. "_Wrong_," he spat.

With one fluid powerful motion, he threw Serena against the adjacent brick wall, knocking the wind out of her. A faint _tsking_ sound could be heard, and a second man came into view - shorter, with long blond hair. He cocked his head to the side, studying the helpless young woman with sadistic bemusement. "You ran out on us, sweetheart. Tyler and me-" With a nod, he indicated his partner. "-see, we don't _appreciate_ being treated like that-"

"Hey!" Both men looked up in surprise as Hacksaw stepped out of the shadows, Evan trailing bravely behind. The old man gripped his two-by-four in one hand, slapping its edge against the palm of the other, staring at the two men with absolutely no fear or intimidation. His voice, when he spoke, was clipped and precise. "_Get...away...from...her_."

For a moment, there was nothing...and then the dreadlocked man smiled. "_Well..._" he drawled; there was nothing nice about the sound. Releasing his hold on Serena, he rose up to his full height, which had to be somewhere above six feet. He peered down at the two homeless men. "Hey, Curt!" This remark was directed at his friend. "Take a look at Don Quixote over here!"

Curt sniggered, but said nothing. Tyler peered at Hacksaw and Evan, his smile evaporating into a countenance of cold impassivity. "Stay out of this, old man," A threatening note had crept into his voice. "This isn't your fight." Satisfied that he had gotten his message across, he turned his attention back to the frightened prostitute pressed against the wall.

_TWACK_! The board caught him right across the shoulder blades; groaning a little with the impact, but not breaking. Hacksaw drew the crude weapon back, his body already tensed to deliver a second blow. His flinty blue eyes narrowed to tiny slits. "I _said_..._get away from her_."

The homeless man swung again, but unfortunately, this time, Tyler was ready for him. Turning slightly, the bearded man caught the board with one hand, simultaneously blocking the blow and shoving backward, knocking Hacksaw to the ground. The grizzled old man hit the pavement hard, unable to bite back an involuntary grunt of pain as he landed on his bad knee.

"_Hack_!" Serena screamed, her shrieks dying away to muffled cries as Curt clamped his hand over her mouth.

"Shut up, bitch!" the blond-haired man growled. For a moment, his gaze slid over to Tyler and the two homeless men, ascertaining that his partner had things under control before flicking it back toward the terrified prostitute. His mouth twitched, curving upward in a cruel smirk. "Some rescue party you've got there, whore - a geezer and a midget."

Tyler, meanwhile, continued to stare down at his handiwork, his countenance registering nothing. Evan rushed to Hacksaw's side, kneeling down beside his fallen companion. The two-by-four lay less than a foot away, within easy reach. Evan stared at it, unable to tear his gaze away from the weathered piece of wood.

Tyler must have noticed the smaller man's line of sight, because his bearded face twisted into an amused sneer. "You think you can take me, short stuff?" He nudged the board toward Evan with the toe of his boot, gesturing at his imposing frame with both hands. "Come on, take your best shot - _I dare you_."

Evan hesitated, clearly weighing his options, apprehension and determination fighting for dominance on his youthful face. After a second or two, however, the instinctual need to protect his own won out over the threat of any physical discomfort that might accompany it, and the smaller man lunged toward the board with a wiry burst of speed. Tyler's smirk widened, as he raised his booted foot to drive it into Evan's skull-

And that was when the shadow dropped out of the sky.

The bearded man never knew what hit him; never even saw the wall before he slammed into it face-first. Curt was able to blurt out a startled: "What the _hell-_" before a powerful hand clamped around his throat, throwing him against the brick wall and actually lifting him off the ground.

The blond-haired man found himself staring into a face that seemed to consist of sharp fangs and glowing red eyes, and felt a hot stream of liquid course down his leg as his bladder reflexively let go. "D-don't kill me!" Curt blubbered. Involuntary tears spilled down his cheeks as he struggled for air. "Holy _shit_ - _please_ don't kill me-"

"_Kill _you?" The shadow laughed; a hollow, empty sound that was somehow more chilling than the visuals that accompanied it. "I'm not going to _kill_ you - you're not my _type_."

The shadow paused, leaning in, its deep voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "_But_...if I see _you_ _or_ that Neanderthal around here again...I'll make an exception." Another pause, and within its soundless void, Curt could glimpse the devastation that the threat implied. "_Understand_?"

The blond-haired man had no oxygen to spare, so he frantically bobbed his head up and down in an emphatic nod. The shadow regarded him for a moment longer, before releasing its grip and allowing him to slump back down to the pavement. Curt didn't even wait to catch his breath; merely yanked Tyler - moaning and barely cognizant of his surroundings - to his feet, half-supporting, half-dragging the bearded man as they staggered out of the alleyway.

When their stumbling footsteps had faded from hearing range, the shadow turned, staring down at Serena. The prostitute gulped, shrinking back against the wall, bracing herself against the inevitable attack.

Instead of lunging toward her, however, the shadow bent down, scooping up her bag of groceries - dropped when Tyler had grabbed her. Straightening up, it held the bag out toward her. The reddish glow of its eyes had dimmed, and for the first time, Serena was able to discern in the faint light that the figure looming over her was a _man_ - a powerfully-built, intimidating one, but a _man_ nonetheless.

Her savior was speaking now; his voice, though still rough, was low, almost gentle - a far cry from the harsh growl she had heard a few seconds ago. "Here...you dropped this." Serena looked from her bag of supplies to him, still unable to move; unable to banish the memory of those _eyes_, the flash of impossibly long, impossible _sharp_ teeth.

The big man met her gaze steadily - even in the almost nonexistent illumination, Serena could see that his eyes were dark, and glimmering with a palpable inner pain. He spoke again: "I'm not going to hurt you," There was a sort of forced emphasis in his tone, as though the prostitute wasn't the only one he was trying to convince.

Serena stared at him a moment longer, then abruptly snatched the bag from him and scurried backward toward the rest of her family, never taking her eyes off the imposing form of their unexpected rescuer.

By now, Hacksaw had gotten hold of his trusty two-by-four once again, and using it and Evan's help, had managed to struggle back up to his feet. The big man regarded all three of them silently, not moving, not taking so much as one step in their direction. Once again, Serena caught a flash of utter misery radiating from him - making her think that, in a way, this mysterious individual was even more lost than they were.

After what seemed like an eternity, their savior shrugged - a gesture of rueful resignation. "I'll...leave you alone." The big man turned to go, and had just reached the mouth of the alleyway when Hacksaw surprised them all by speaking:

"Hey, stranger - where're you headed?"

Their rescuer paused, but did not turn around. "Nowhere, I guess."

The grizzled old man crossed his arms over his chest, hugging the board against him. "You got someplace to stay?"

The big man let out a sound that could have been either a laugh or a sob. "Not really..."

Hacksaw bobbed his head up and down in a curt nod. "Well then...since you've got nowhere to go...and since we owe you one for what you did a minute ago...why don't you crash with us?"

At this, both Serena and Evan turned to look at their older companion, their mouths agape in nearly identical expressions of disbelief. "You...you can't be _serious_!" the prostitute sputtered. "Sure, he saved us and all - but you saw him! He's not _human_-"

"I gotta go with 'Rena on this one," Evan cut in. "Hack, the dude has fucking _fangs-_"

"I noticed that," Hacksaw interjected almost mildly. He fixed his two family members with a stern look. "But what _you two _failed to notice is that if this guy planned on killing us...he would have done so by now. Isn't that right?" The last statement was directed at the big man, who merely lifted his massive shoulders up in a shrug.

Uncrossing his arms, Hacksaw wrapped them around the shoulders of his two younger companions, drawing them into a huddle, lowering his voice to a solemn murmur: "Look, I'm aware that now's not the time or the place for a Sunday School lesson, so I'll just say this - when you've been out here as long as I have, you learn that there are two kinds of souls: good ones and bad ones."

The homeless man drew in a deep breath before going on. "And with all the darkness out there, it's important for the good ones to stick together...no matter _what_ they happen to be." He glanced at his younger companions. "_Comprende_?"

There was an awkward pause as the prostitute and the former addict considered this. Gradually, Evan nodded, Serena echoing the motion a second or two later.

Hacksaw pressed his lips together. "All right, then." He straightened up. "Come over here, stranger. What's your name?"

At this, the big man finally turned, moving slowly, almost cautiously, toward the trio. "Dave."

"Glad to know ya, Dave," Hacksaw replied. He tapped the edge of the two-by-four against his chest. "They call me Hacksaw, this here is Evan, and this vision over here is Serena," The prostitute blushed, ducking her head at the affectionate praise. Hacksaw tilted his chin up, staring hard at the vampire. "We sure do appreciate what you did for us back there,"

Dave slowly shook his head. "It was nothing-"

"No, it was _something_," Hacksaw interrupted forcefully. Dave said nothing; only nodded. The homeless man jerked his chin back over his shoulder. "Come on, it'll be daylight in a few hours - and I'm guessing, from the way you keep glancing at the sky, that you're even more aware of that than I am."

"Yeah, about that..." Hacksaw led the way, Serena and Evan in tow, Dave bringing up the rear. The vampire cleared his throat awkwardly. "This place...of yours...it doesn't have..._windows_...does it?"

The grizzled old man ground to a halt, throwing his head back as he roared with laughter. Dave stopped as well, uncertainty and a touch of irritation flitting across his roughly-hewn features. Hacksaw, perhaps noting his annoyance, was able to rein in his amusement. "No, no, I'm not laughing at you, son - it's just that-"

They had arrived at a dead end, which doglegged off from the alleyway. A few feet ahead, Serena and Evan knelt down, pulling aside several large pieces of cardboard to reveal a carefully concealed open manhole. Hacksaw glanced back at Dave, his face creasing in a wry grin. "Where _we're_ going...windows aren't a problem."

* * *

Dave pressed his hand over his mouth, trying his hardest not to gag. The stench down here in the sewer tunnel was unreal; a pungent, almost tangible aroma that clung to his clothes and made his eyes water. The passageway was pitch black - not that total darkness was a problem for him. Being able to see in the dark meant that he didn't have to hold onto the slime-covered walls for guidance - but it also meant that he could see exactly what he was stepping in.

Incredibly, neither the lack of light nor the smell seemed to be bothering the trio up ahead of him - Hacksaw was actually whistling, banging his two-by-four against the wall every so often to create a sort of makeshift sonar. Dave swallowed hard and held his sleeve over his nose and mouth, grateful only that he didn't technically _need_ to breathe.

Up ahead, the three homeless people made a sharp left, and the vampire adjusted his path accordingly. They were out of the sewers - the ground beneath his feet was more solid, and the walls of the tunnel had widened considerably. Unfortunately, the stench remained, and Dave sucked in another breath through the fabric of his sleeve.

Several yards away, he could make out a faint distinction in the darkness, where the gloom gradually gave way to actual light. At the same time, he heard Hacksaw call out: "We're here!" Moving tentatively, the vampire followed them into the light...and stepped into a world he had never imagined.

The space was cavernous; there was no way it could be anything other than man-made. Strands of bare light bulbs had been strung all around the interior, casting a dim yellowish-light glow on the contours of the hideaway. As he stood there, absorbing his environment, Dave realized that they were in an abandoned subway station, now rundown and falling apart from disuse.

Over on the left, on the platform, the embers of a dying fire projected strange shifting shadows on the crumbling tiled pillars. There was a misshapen heap huddled next to the fire - Dave at first thought it was a pile of discarded clothes, but then the heap stirred, and he realized it was a person.

The figure sat up, peering suspiciously at the returning trio. He was a black man, his hair plaited in short braids, the whites of his bulging eyes a stark contrast against the darkness of his skin. "Who's there?" he called out warily, his voice a booming hoarse bass. "That you, little Jimmy?"

"It's me, Truth," Hacksaw replied, his tone measured and even. "It's Hacksaw - I've got Evan and Serena with me." The grizzled old man approached the platform slowly; Dave could tell from his body language that he was trying not to agitate the other man. "Go on back to bed, Truth,"

Truth shook his head vehemently. "Can't, Hack - little Jimmy's got my bed all wired up; he's watching me while I sleep-" The black man paused, noticing Dave for the first time. His wide eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Who that?"

Without taking his eyes off of Truth, Hacksaw indicated the vampire with a nod of his head. "This here is Dave, Truth - he's going to be staying with us-"

His words, however, were drowned out by Truth's agitated roar: "_Lies_!" The black man sprang to his feet, his whole body shaking as he pointed accusingly at Dave. "You brought 'em here - you brought one of the _Jimmies_-"

"No!" Faster than he could see, Serena scrambled up onto the platform, grabbing Truth's hands and peering up into his face. "He's safe, Truth! He's _safe_!" Her tone was pleading, near tears. "Come on - let me take you back to bed-"

For a moment, Truth's gaze continued to burn accusingly in Dave's direction, then he glanced at Serena - and the vampire could see the slight shift in his features as some measure of lucidity returned to him. He slumped slightly, lowering his eyes to the tiled floor, allowing the prostitute to lead him back around a corner to his sleeping area, displaying none of the agitation he had shown a second ago.

For a few tense heartbeats of time, no one moved. Eventually, Hacksaw nudged Evan with his elbow. "You go with her - see he's settled down all right," The smaller man didn't argue; merely climbed up onto the platform and trotted after the pair.

Dave waited until he, too, had disappeared around the corner before tentatively asking: "What...what's wrong with him?"

"Schizophrenia," the homeless man remarked brusquely. "He's getting worse - soon, there won't be anything we can do for him-"

The vampire slowly shook his head, unable to banish the odd mixture of sense and insanity in Truth's gaze from his brain. "Isn't there someplace...you can take him-"

Hacksaw let out a harsh bark of laughter. "I think you know just as well as I that the world up _there_-" He jabbed his thumb toward the ceiling far above them. "-doesn't much care what happens to people like _us_." The grizzled old man gave himself a brisk little shake, returning them both to the present. "Well, then...let's get you settled in."

The two of them climbed up onto the platform (Hacksaw with considerable more ease than his appearance would suggest) and made their way down to the end of a dim corridor, pausing next to a closed door.

Hacksaw tapped the barrier with the end of his board. "This here is an old supply closet - we've been keeping it closed because of the rats." As soon as he said it, Dave's preternatural hearing picked up the soft scrape of claws on concrete, accompanied by the odd high-pitched squeak.

The homeless man went on. "You saved my family, Dave. That means something to me - so feel free to stay here as long as you need to. In return, though - " A note of deadly seriousness crept into his tone. " - you don't go after any of us. You gotta feed, there's plenty of scum up on the surface that the world won't miss. There's nothing but good people down here, and you _leave them be_."

The grizzled old man took a step toward Dave, peering up into his face without intimidation. "Go after me or my family...and I'll kill you. _Comprende_?"

The vampire nodded. "I believe you."

Hacksaw, apparently reading a similar sentiment in Dave's gaze, returned the gesture, his voice lightening a touch. "I'll send Evan back with some extra blankets. I suggest though, if you gotta eat, you take your dinner now - unless you want to give the poor boy a heart attack when he comes back here." The homeless man crossed his arms over his chest again, cradling the two-by-four against him almost like a child. "Any questions?"

"Yeah..." Dave lifted his head, choosing his words carefully before continuing. "Why...are you helping me?"

Hacksaw stared at him for a minute or two without speaking, and the vampire saw something glint in the depths of his blue eyes; the painful flash of raw emotion. When the homeless man eventually _did_ speak, his words were coated with that same barely contained feeling: "Because I've seen _things_ on these streets - things that crawl out of the pit once the sun goes down. You're not the first - I've seen others like you - but you're the first one I've met that still remembers what it's like to be human."

The grizzled old man cocked his head to the side, studying Dave with a sort of solemn fascination. "You're looking for something...something you _lost_...something that's making you hold to your humanity with both hands."

Dave froze, the memory of Mickie's face, her voice, her _scent_ suffocating him for a second, and it was only with the profoundest effort that he was able to reply: "Yeah...yeah, there is."

"And you're going to _keep_ looking, aren't you?" Hacksaw's voice was almost gentle at this point. "You're going to keep looking...until you find it."

Dave couldn't speak - all he could see was Mickie lying on the floor, the dark pool of blood oozing into the bright sheen of her hair, the desperation in those five words of hers before everything had gone completely and utterly still-

_Run...you stupid bastard...run..._

A tear trickled down Dave's cheek, working its way over the sharp planes of his face. His deep voice was just above a whisper. "Yeah...I suppose I am."

Hacksaw, perhaps sensing that silence was the best response at this point, merely patted his shoulder and turned to go. As he did, the vampire spoke up. "Hacksaw?" The homeless man turned, his eyebrows raised questioningly. Dave struggled to think of something eloquent to say, but found that he couldn't, so he merely added: "Thanks..."

Hacksaw nodded, and turning around, made his way back toward the fire. Dave watched him go, then turned back toward the supply closet, opening the door and stepping inside.

The vampire made his way to the center of the room, sinking down to his knees. It didn't take long for the first rat to venture out to investigate the new arrival. With an almost imperceptible blur of motion, Dave grabbed hold of it, raising the squealing rodent to his mouth.

His lips drew back from his teeth, revealing his fangs, and in the back of his mind, he remembered thinking: _If Melina could only see me now..._

Dave sank his teeth into the rat, puncturing its furry hide and snapping its spine. The rodent shuddered, then went limp in his hands. Its blood tasted disgusting - like drinking day-old coffee and ass - but the vampire kept drinking until the rat was fully drained, and once it was, he grabbed another.

And another...and another...


	25. Chapter 25: Drop The World: Pt 1

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! As you can see, it's another two-parter - it was either this or else go completely insane trying to cram everything into one. Hopefully, you'll still enjoy it. PEACE!**

**Thank you to **AprilGilbert1996, Esha Napoleon, Shandy777, nikki1335, Animal Luvr 4 Life, **and **Girl on Fire **for reviewing the last chapter! YOU ROCK!**

* * *

Chapter 24: Drop The World: Part 1

"_Life is a bullet/The bloodstains will prove it/It's tearing through you and me/Not caring 'bout you or me..."-Papa Roach, "Life Is A Bullet"_

Mickie opened her eyes slowly, her vision swimming as she peered up at the textured surface of the ceiling tiles above her. She'd been having the strangest dream - in it, Dave had been surrounded by rats, grabbing the rodents one by one, puncturing their furry skin with his fangs and draining their blood before tossing them aside.

The vampire's presence was nothing new - images and memories of him had been interwoven with her dreams throughout the indeterminable period of time she had spent drifting in and out of consciousness. But there was something about _this_ particular vision that made her pause - something which set it apart from all the other painkiller-induced hallucinations.

This dream...it had been so _vivid_, as though its location was an actual one and not some fantasy space comprised of scraps of her subconscious. The _smell_ - like a mixture of shit and desperation - so potent that it climbed down her throat and made her eyes smart with tears. The coarseness of the rats' fur as Dave grabbed them; the writhing whips of their tails hitting his wrist as they struggled to free themselves.

And above it all...the keening wail of the vampire's grief - his misery as acute and poignant as her own...

Mickie's brown irises darted all around, taking in as much of her environment as she could without turning her head. She was back in that unfamiliar room - that space that was somehow both a sanctuary and a prison - surrounded by those equally alien machines. The pain was still there, but by now, she had become so used to the sensation that its presence seemed almost inconsequential. In a way...it was as though nothing had changed.

But that wasn't true, was it? No...the one thing differentiating this moment from the last time was the single stark fact that _everything_ had changed.

The scarred brunette turned her head to the side, bracing herself against the inevitable presence of John, her mouth already sour from the involuntary rush of angry bile that surged up her throat. Instead, she was surprised - and more than a little relieved - to find that the room's only other occupant was a young Asian woman, her dark hair pulled back into a makeshift bun, sitting in very much the same spot Nattie had taken up the last time.

The other woman was studying a stack of papers clamped together on a clipboard, but at the small movement from the bed, she glanced up, her lips curving upward in a small smile. "Hey...welcome back to the world of the living."

Mickie's response was a low groan. The other woman's smile widened a touch. "I hear ya." She suddenly jumped a little, as though she had just remembered something. "Oh! Before I forget-" Setting her clipboard aside, she pressed a button on the side of the bed. Mickie heard the low hum of hydraulics, and felt her upper body shift as the head end of the bed rose slightly to a more inclined position.

The other woman rose to her feet, and the scarred brunette noticed for the first time that she had a plastic cup in one hand, filled about a third of the way with a strange yellowish liquid. "Here - drink this," she commanded, and before Mickie could protest or even inquire exactly _what _she was consuming, the Asian woman pressed the rim of the cup to her lips and poured the liquid down her throat.

The scarred brunette gagged and coughed, pressing one hand over her mouth as she struggled not to throw up. "_Jesus_! What the hell _is _that?"

"Methadone," the other woman replied calmly, as though this explained everything.

Mickie swallowed hard, her whole body shuddering with exertion as she endeavored to bring her violent coughing back under control. "Ugh! It tastes like _piss_!"

At this, the other woman's expression softened ever-so-slightly. "I know," she replied after a moment or two. "But it'll make your withdrawal less excruciating." To this, Mickie had nothing to say - there was..._something_...in the other woman's tone; something which seemed to suggest that her knowledge of the agony of drug withdrawal was based off of more than just clinical observation.

The other woman returned to her seat, picking up her clipboard once again. "My name is Gail, by the way." Her almond-shaped eyes flicked up to meet Mickie's. "I'm guessing, with all the..._excitement_...that occurred the last time you regained consciousness, no one's bothered to tell you where you are, so I will - you're in the basement of the LaBell Clinic."

Mickie, meanwhile, had finally reined in her coughing and sagged back against the pillow, her strength physically spent from the uncontrollable spasms. Gail went on, glancing down at her clipboard for reference. "You've been here...wow, almost a week at this point." Another solemn glance in the scarred brunette's direction. "Your friend Cena brought you in here with a gunshot wound-"

To this, Mickie abruptly averted her gaze, turning her face toward the opposite wall. "He's _not_ my friend," Her voice was flat, bitter. "_He's_ the one that shot me."

A long tense silence followed her statement. Eventually, Gail cleared her throat awkwardly and studied her chart once more. "We've been keeping you pretty heavily sedated - but otherwise, your vitals look good. I checked your sutures before you woke up; you're healing nicely, quicker than...we expected."

Gail was quick, but Mickie nevertheless caught the slight hesitation in her voice; the brief pause as she caught herself, instead of uttering what she was _actually _thinking:

_Quicker...than normal..._

Gail cleared her throat again, more forcefully this time. "Anyway, we-"

"Is he still here?" Mickie's voice, though soft, still cut across her tentative statement like the honed edge of a knife.

The Asian woman frowned. "Who? Cena?" She shook her head. "Not anymore; Daniel - Dr. Bryan, I mean - threw him out; said his presence was 'detrimental to your health'." At this, Mickie's shoulders began to shake, followed by a hoarse choking sound that Gail gradually realized was _laughter_. "What's so funny?"

"N-nothing," the scarred brunette replied, her words almost like gasping hiccups in the midst of her laughter. "It's just that...I didn't think it was possible for someone to throw John out of _anywhere_." To this, Gail's features relaxed, an amused smile touching her lips.

After a minute or so, Mickie's laughter faded away into silence, and she turned her head, focusing on the physician's assistant. "Gail?" The Asian woman stared at her expectantly. Mickie bit her lip, taking a deep breath as she selected her next words. "It really happened...didn't it? And not just getting shot, but...everything afterward?"

Gail slowly nodded. "Yeah..."

The scarred brunette swallowed hard. "So I really am..." Another deep breath; one which sounded almost like a sob. "..._pregnant_?" This time, the Asian woman said nothing; merely nodded again.

For a long agonizing second, Mickie stared at her wordlessly, disbelief and realization fighting for supremacy on her ruined features. Then, suddenly, her face crumpled and the scarred brunette began to cry, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Gail's countenance instantly creased with concern and the physician assistant rose to her feet, crossing the short distance between them. "Mickie..." Reaching out, she gently took hold of one of Mickie's hands. "It's going to be all right-"

"No, it _isn't_!" Sobbing, the scarred brunette yanked her hand free, gesturing at herself. "_Look_ at me! I'm a walking _train wreck_ - a junkie..._whatever_...who whores herself out to a _scumbag_!"

Mickie shook her head vehemently, barely able to talk through her tears. "How can I care for a child, how can I be a _mother_...when I can barely even keep myself alive..." Her words abruptly dissolved into meaningless syllables, and the brunette covered her face with both hands as she wept.

Gail was silent for a long time, and even though she couldn't see her, Mickie was sure that empty words of comfort or some lecture about the joys of motherhood was destined to follow. But instead, the physician's assistant finally remarked: "Mickie...can I show you something?"

Just hearing her _voice_ - quavering with barely contained emotion - was enough to break through Mickie's miserable outburst, and the scarred brunette reluctantly pulled her hands back from her face, swiping at her tearstained cheeks with the heel of her palm.

Gail met her gaze steadily. Without speaking, she rolled up the sleeves of her white doctor's coat, taking a deep breath before extending her bare forearms toward the brunette. As soon as she did, Mickie felt a stunned gasp escape her throat. Even though they had long since healed over, the track mark scars marring Gail's skin were nearly identical to hers.

Her brown irises slid up to meet Gail's. "_You_?" was all she was able to get out.

The Asian woman nodded, the faint shine of tears glimmering at the edges of her almond-shaped eyes. "Me."

Mickie slowly shook her head, still a little too shaken to fully grasp what she had seen. "_How_?"

To this, the physician's assistant looked away, focusing on a point, a _memory_, that only she could see. "I came from a wealthy family; went to med school because it was what was _expected_ of me - I got into drugs because I was bored, I was _stupid_, I was too spoiled and self-absorbed to know any better,"

Gail coughed, pressing her fist to her mouth, pausing for a long moment before going on. "Anyway, it didn't take very long for a poor little rich girl like me, with no idea how to take care of myself, to hit rock bottom...or to find myself with people I'd rather not mention, in places I'd like to forget."

The Asian woman abruptly looked away, but Mickie still saw the tear fall; hesitating at the line of Gail's jaw before dropping to the floor. "I ended up here one night, as Daniel was closing up the clinic, strung out of my _mind_-" Gail ducked her head, blinking rapidly as she gulped in a breath. "He could have just made me a sandwich and given me a lecture, and that would have been that, but instead - he took me in, gave me a place to stay, got me clean-"

The physician's assistant smiled, as good recollections began to replace the bad. "After all the H was out of my system and we began to talk, _really_ talk - that's when he realized that I was much more knowledgable that your average junkie, and that with some training and supervision, maybe I could be useful. So he asked me to stay...and I stayed." Gail crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. "And since then...I've never been happier."

She carefully sat on the edge of her bed; her voice, when she spoke again, was both thoughtful and halting: "I know...that you think...that no one will _ever_ understand what you're going through. And maybe you're right - maybe I _don't_."

Gail hesitated, her almond-shaped eyes boring into Mickie's. "But I _do_ know what it's like to live with demons...demons that you feel you'll never be able to shake." Reaching over, she took hold of Mickie's hand once again; the brunette stiffened, but did not pull away.

The physician's assistant gnawed on her lower lip, choosing her next words carefully: "Sometimes...things happen...and they're horrible and senseless and they tear us apart. And the only way...I've ever been able to come to terms with them...is by thinking that maybe life subjects us to the worst kind of hell because that's the only way...to mold us into the person we're ultimately supposed to be."

Gail's mouth curved upward in a rueful half-smile. "I'm not trying to feed you a line about God or anything like that - but at the same time, I have to believe that there's something bigger than all of us, ya know?" She nudged back a stray tendril of hair with one finger. "There has to be a _reason_ for all of this - why you didn't die years ago, why you didn't die a week ago, why you're _pregnant_ and you shouldn't be, why you're _human _and you shouldn't-"

The Asian woman broke off suddenly, shaking her head almost helplessly. "I mean...it can't be _all_ justrandom coincidence..._right_?"

Gail gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, and in spite of herself, Mickie found herself returning the grip. "In a world like _this_, like the one you and I've experienced, where the bottom can drop out at any second...sometimes, you just have to believe that there's going to be someone to catch you this time."

* * *

Randy leaned back against the headrest of the car seat, his hands lightly gripping the steering wheel, his piercing blue eyes closed. The neighborhood he was parked in wasn't one of the greatest - most people would have driven through without stopping or avoided it altogether - but the Viper's Pit owner could have cared less. There was nothing in or on the vehicle _worth_ stealing, and even if someone had still been stupid enough to attempt to do so, he would have had to deal with the car's occupant.

Besides...Randy had always enjoyed observing this particular region of the city. Out here, where resources were limited, people fought tooth and nail, sometimes to the _death_, to survive. Out here, it was animal nature at its most pure - simple, basic, unfettered by pesky things like moral ambiguity.

In a way...it was where he _truly_ belonged.

The Viper's Pit owner sat there, motionless, the rapid twitch of his eyeballs beneath his closed lids his only movement as he thought...and thought...and thought. He knew who Doctor Daniel Bryan was, of course; the clinic's close proximity to his bar guaranteed that. Every so often, he would have to deal with some bright-eyed volunteer who popped into the Viper Pit with fliers for a blood drive, or a food drive, or some other humanitarian bullshit.

Overall, Randy's view of the good doctor was one of disdain and disinterest: Bryan was a goody-two-shoes, a Boy Scout...but he was also harmless - like an annoying gnat that will eventually go away if you swat it enough times.

But then, every so often, he would hear stories - stories that made him pause, made him _question_ the completeness of his summation of Bryan's character. Stories like how the clinic operated at night, how its clients used a basement entrance instead of the one at the front...and how said clients were a far cry from the usual group of junkies, whores, and bums.

How had one particularly unreliable source put it? _"They looked like killers...trained killers."_

Randy had more or less dismissed the rumors as BS - Bryan was _far_ too milquetoast to do something as ballsy as patching up Hunters in his off hours - but now, for the first time, he found himself wondering if maybe, _just maybe_...the rumors were _true._

And if _that_ was the case...then what better place to bring a wounded halfling?

Randy opened his eyes, turning his head to stare out the window at the crudely painted sign hanging next to the brownstone building's front door:

_LABELL CLINIC_

_ ALL WELCOME_

The Viper's Pit owner's lip curled in disgust. Knowing Bryan, he had probably let some meth-head make the sign. But that was unimportant; only two things mattered right now.

The first was finding Mickie.

The second...was _making her pay_.

Throwing open the driver's side door, Randy swung his long legs out into the street. Slamming the door shut behind him, he strode slowly, purposefully, toward the clinic.

* * *

"Hey...you awake?"

Mickie opened her eyes at the soft rap on the door, followed by the cheerful cadence of Bryan's voice. The brunette rolled over onto her back, biting back a yawn, watching silently as the doctor and Nattie entered the room, carefully wheeling a strange apparatus between them. She _had _been sleeping; in fact, she had been sleeping _a lot_ lately - although whether that was due to the pregnancy or the hellish week she had just gone through, Mickie wasn't sure.

She had thought, after all the pain she had already endured, that she could certainly tolerate the agony of heroin withdrawal - _how wrong she had been_. There was no one word that could properly sum up the nightmarish torment of that detoxification period. The nausea, the sweating, the pain that racked her body, the way each second seemed to slow to an hour...

Her memories of that time were still a fragmented hallucinatory haze, but she could remember lying on the floor in a fetal position; being freezing cold one moment, and then boiling hot the next. She even had a vague recollection of screaming until she was hoarse, yelling that _someone needed to give her a hit, someone needed to give her a hit right now before she fucking killed everybody-_

But gradually, _impossibly_, it had passed - the pain, the vomiting, all of it. She had felt her body purging the drug, like a noxious miasma leaching from her skin - and as she had sat there in the tiled shower stall, weak, achy, and shivering despite the hot water beating down on her...she had also felt the strongest of Randy's chains grow brittle and shatter.

Mickie rubbed her eyes with her fists, her mouth twitching up into a sleepy half-smile. "What's up, Doc?" she croaked.

Even though it was an old joke - and a bad one - Bryan still grinned and chuckled as he had done every other time she had uttered it. "Still haven't lost your sense of humor, I see," As he spoke, Nattie sidled around him, going through the usual routine of checking Mickie's temperature and pulse. The doctor's grin sobered a touch. "I know that you've been through a lot these past two weeks - recovery, and then the detox process."

He paused. "Gail tells me...that you went to hell and back."

To this, the brunette said nothing; only nodded. Bryan turned slightly, indicating the strange machine, which looked like some kind of otherworldly computer. "So I thought that maybe...it would cheer you up a little...if we took a look at that baby of yours."

At the mention of the baby, Mickie felt something inside her clench up. Even after almost two weeks, she still hadn't fully come to terms with the fact that she _was_ pregnant; that a new life, totally separate from and yet totally dependent on hers, was growing within her. In the midst of the unbelievable circus that her life had become, this child seemed almost like an afterthought; like an extraneous detail that had been tacked on at the last second.

It didn't seem real - sometimes, she didn't believe that it _was _real. And yet...there had been moments during the withdrawal process when she had grabbed her abdomen and felt, to her utter astonishment, a faint flicker of movement beneath her fingertips. Mickie still wasn't sure if it had actually occurred - her recollections during that time were still illusory and disjointed - but more than anything, she wanted to believe that it _had_...because the second she had felt that movement, it had filled her with the most extraordinary sense of peace.

Like the way she had felt the first time Dave touched her...or the first time he had told her that he loved her.

Bryan, meanwhile, had pulled up a chair next to the bed, while Nattie wheeled the ultrasound machine within easy reach. Carefully pulling down the covers and tucking them around her legs, the doctor pulled up her hospital gown to expose her abdomen.

Even though she had already ascertained as much for herself, Mickie was still taken aback to see that her normal flat stomach now sloped upward in a slightly rounded curve. Bryan must have noticed it, too, because he paused - and although the brunette couldn't be sure, she thought she caught a flash of puzzlement flit across the doctor's expression.

It quickly passed, however, and Bryan resumed his usual genial demeanor, whistling a quick tune as he grabbed a pair of rubber gloves and a tube of gel. Mickie scrunched up her face as he applied the slick substance to her skin. The gel was warm, and felt weird, like something that was not quite liquid.

Picking up a small device that looked like a corded microphone, Bryan pressed it against her abdomen, moving it around in circular sweeping motions. Up on the screen, Mickie could see what looked like a pulsing wall of gray.

Bryan flashed her a wry smile. "It's been a while since I've done one of these, so forgive me if I'm a little rusty." Turning back toward the screen, he suddenly let out a low whistle. "Oh, wait - there we are! _Beautiful_!"

Mickie was about to ask just what the hell he was seeing that she wasn't when, all at once, like a shape emerging from a bank of fog, it swam into focus - the head, the curve of the body, the tiny hands curled up near the face. The brunette felt something inside her plummet, and her mouth dropped open, all the air leaving her lungs in a startled gasp.

Nattie quickly moved to her side, reaching over to grab her hand reassuringly. Mickie squeezed it in return, but kept her focus on the screen, unable to tear her gaze away from the image on the screen. A tear rolled down her cheek. "Is that..." Her voice sounded faraway and full of wonder. "..._my baby_?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's it," Bryan replied. He sounded distracted, as though he was only half-listening to her, his previously ebullient countenance sagged into a frown. "Interesting..."

Mickie, however, wasn't listening - she was too captivated by what she was seeing. Those tiny hands, legs as slender as sticks - she could even make out the face, the contoured curves of nose and lips. "It...it's _perfect_," she whispered, tears blurring her vision. "So _perfect_..."

Glancing at Bryan, she noticed that the doctor, strangely, did not seem to be sharing her joy - instead, he was staring at the screen with an ever-deepening frown, his expression clearly bewildered. Mickie felt her elation dim slightly. "Doc?" she asked slowly. "What's going on - is there...something wrong-"

The doctor looked back sharply, noting her concern. "What? Oh, no, no, no!" He quickly waved both hands to reassure her - however, in doing so, he pulled the device from her stomach and the screen went black. Bryan looked from it to the device in his hand to Mickie, obviously unsure of whether to resume the ultrasound or provide an explanation. "It's just...that..." The doctor hesitated.

"What?" Mickie struggled up to her elbows, ignoring Nattie's frantic attempts to push her back down. She narrowed her eyes, peering hard at Bryan. "If there's something going, I'm _pretty sure_ that I have a _right_ to know about it!"

The doctor looked at her without speaking for a second or two, before finally nodding. "You're right," He gestured toward the now-dark screen, stumbling slightly over his words. "We did an ultrasound two weeks, when you first came here - just to determine how far you were in your pregnancy."

Bryan leaned forward a little. "Now, neither Gail nor I is a gynecologist, but we _both_ agreed that the fetus we saw on the screen was about ten weeks along, twelve at the most."

The doctor reached back, tapping the screen with his index figure. "What you saw a few seconds ago...was a fetus that has to be at least _twenty_ weeks along."

Mickie felt a chill sweep over her body. She could hear a faint rushing sound in her ears, like blowing winds, followed by the frantic pounding of her own heartbeat. "What...what are you _saying_-"

Bryan sighed. "I'm saying that this baby is growing at _double_ the normal rate...perhaps more."

A long silence followed his words. Mickie's lips were numb; her voice sounded as though it was coming from a great distance when she finally managed to speak: "How...is that _possible_?"

"There's only one thing...that _I _can think of," Bryan leaned forward again, all joviality and joking pushed aside, his formerly carefree expression now filled with a grave earnestness. He took a deep cautious breath before adding:

"And that's...that the father of _this_ baby..._isn't human_."

* * *

Gail sighed heavily, blowing air out impatiently between her lips. It wasn't even mid-afternoon, and already, she was exhausted. Since the clinic had opened at eight this morning, there had been a Code Blue, a grand mal seizure, three fights - one of them resulting in stitches - and an escaped pet rat...not to mention the customary spate of broken and sprained limbs, STDs, malnutrition, and bad attitudes.

The physician assistant, for not the first time that day, was sorely tempted to throw everyone out, flip the sign on the door from "OPEN" to "CLOSED" and say "Fuck it." But instead, she merely tucked some loose hair behind her ears, forcing a smile onto her face as she called out: "Next!"

The figure on the bench raised one manicured hand, and Gail instantly felt her false smile fade. "Really, Rosa - back _again_? What is it this time - gonorrhea?"

Rosa - a young woman with long black hair and overly thick makeup - shrugged insolently. Gail crossed her arms over her chest, tapping her foot impatiently. "Is it really too much to even _suggest_ a condom to these guys?" Another flippant shrug. The Asian woman rolled her eyes, exasperated. "All right, just...go have a seat in Exam 2; I'll be there in a minute."

Rosa rose to her feet, sauntering to the assigned room with a sultriness that was as unnecessary and over-the-top as her makeup. Gail was about to follow her when she heard the faint jingle of a bell as someone stepped through the front door. The physician's assistant glanced over to see who it was, almost perfunctorily - and then abruptly froze, a feeling of absolute dread creeping across her skin as Randy stepped into the clinic.

The Viper's Pit owner let out a low whistle as he cast his gaze around the contours of the lobby. "My, this isn't half-bad; I remember when this place used to be a _real shithole_." His voice was low, almost pleasant - but Gail could still catch that faint hint of derision in his tone.

Randy's gaze swung toward her, those empty azure irises of his boring into hers, and it took everything Gail had not to scream. "Of course," the blue-eyed man remarked, moving toward her with the liquid ease of a snake. "I _could_ say something similar about _you_, _Gail_." He was in front of her now, looming over her in that way that seemed to blot out the light, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's been a long time - I can't _remember_ the last time you came to see me-"

"What do _you_ want?" Gail was relieved to hear how strong her voice sounded, belying none of her inner terror and apprehension. She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring up at the Viper's Pit owner.

Randy adopted a look of mock hurt. "Ooh, so _formal_...so _stern_." He shook his head slowly. "You used to be a _lot_ more fun..._especially_ when you were _desperate_." Before Gail could think up a suitable retort to that, the blue-eyed man barreled on. "_Anyway_, I can see that you're busy, so I'll keep it brief."

He paused, and the Asian woman could see his features twitch slightly, as though he was struggling to keep _some_ semblance of emotion on his face. "I'm looking for someone." Another pause. "A _girl_."

"So...what? You thought you'd come _here_?" Gail's almond-shaped eyes narrowed as she glowered up at the Viper's Pit owner. The trick was to look into his eyes without really looking into them - staring directly into those blue pits of emptiness was like tumbling into an abyss. "Just because you and I have a _history_ - a _history_ which I would _love_ to forget - does _not _mean that I'm supposed to keep _tabs_ for you-"

"Oh, you'd remember _this_ girl," Randy interjected calmly. He cocked his head to the side, studying the Asian woman with detached fascination. "Long brown hair, big brown eyes - it's a _shame_ someone had to go and mess up her face like that."

It took everything, every ounce of self-control, every _drop_ of willpower for Gail not to flinch, not to react - even as, on the inside, she was screaming: _Oh my God, MICKIE-_

Randy was still talking: "-and then...there's the _gunshot wound_-"

"She's not here," The words were out of Gail's mouth before she could mull over whether or not to utter them. She tilted her chin up defiantly, meeting Randy's gaze. "We're not open at night - and even if there _had _been someone here, we're not equipped to handle GSWs; we would have sent her to the ER..."

Her voice, previously so strong, trailed off uncertainly as she realized that Randy was staring at her with a sort of triumphant glee...and for the first time, Gail felt her impregnable facade falter. The Viper's Pit owner gradually spoke, each word dripping with barely contained relish: "I never said...that it happened at night - so, _pray tell_, how did _you _know?"

Gail's delicate features sagged, her eyes widening as she realized her gaff. Randy slowly shook his head, his expression becoming almost pitying. "Gail, Gail, Gail..." He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "Sobriety's made you far too honest - you were a _much_ better liar when you were on the junk." He leaned down until their faces were almost touching. "She's _here_..._isn't she_?"

Gail couldn't move, couldn't _speak_ - for the first time, she understood how some animals could be so paralyzed with fear that they never even dodge away from the snake as it strikes. Randy's features suddenly darkened with rage, and he grabbed her arm, jerking her to him, his grip so powerful that the Asian woman was certain the bone would snap.

"Listen, you high-and-mighty _bitch_," the Viper's Pit owner growled. "That _cunt_ is _mine_, and _no one _is going to keep me from finding her," His blue eyes narrowed to tiny slits. "Not _you_ - and certainly not your do-gooder boyfriend_-"_

"Excuse me, sir," A meaty hand clamped down on his shoulder, and Randy looked up to find himself face-to-face with a big burly black man in blue scrubs, who looked like he could break solid steel over his knee. Gail felt her body go limp with relief, and she managed to extricate herself from Randy's grasp, nearly tripping over her own feet as she stumbled backward.

Without moving, the big man shifted his gaze toward the physician's assistant. "He bothering you, Gail?" His voice, though soft, was deep and resonant.

The Asian woman let her breath out in a low shaky exhale. "I'm fine, Mark," she finally replied. She jerked her chin toward Randy. "But get _him_ out of here."

At the sound of her voice, the Viper's Pit owner glanced back in her direction. His blue eyes locked onto hers, and Gail once again felt the dangerous draw of that gaze, like the slow pull of an undertow. His lips barely moved as he spat out the words: "_Tell me where she is_-"

"You heard the lady, sir," Mark's voice was filled with a gentle forcefulness, implying that he really didn't _want_ to hurt Randy, but he would do so if necessary. Gail saw the tendons in his massive hand shift as he gave the Viper's Pit owner's shoulder an emphatic squeeze. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

For a moment, Randy glared at the big man - and then, all of a sudden, the rage evaporated, leaving behind a blank emotionless mask. And somehow, that scared Gail even more than the anger...because it meant that there truly was _nothing_ behind those azure irises, and that even his fury was nothing more than a reflexive response.

The blue-eyed man allowed himself to be led to the door, but just as he reached it, he turned back, pointing directly at Gail. "I'll be back. You _know_ I will."

His mouth twitched, curving upward in a wolfish grin. "I'm a man of my word."

And with that, he was gone; pushing open the double doors and vanishing out into the sunny autumn afternoon.

For several long agonizing seconds, Gail couldn't breathe, couldn't _think_ - she wasn't even aware that Mark was talking to her until she felt his hand lightly touch her shoulder. "-you _sure_ you're all right?"

"Huh?" Gail looked up sharply, her vision clearing, some of her terror dissipating enough to allow icy rationalization to take its place. The physician's assistant straightened up, trying to compose herself enough to keep her voice from shaking. "Listen to me - I want you go to the patients that are still here, and tell that we're closing early - if they ask why, say that something came up. After that, I want you and Ezekiel to go around this _entire place_ - check every door, every _window_; I don't want _anyone _getting in here." She stared hard at the big man. "Do you understand?"

Mark nodded seriously, his expression grave. "I understand."

"Good," Gail swallowed hard. "Now...while you're doing that...I'm gonna go find Daniel-" She turned to go, but as she did, Mark's voice stopped her.

"Gail?" The Asian woman looked back; the big man was staring at the floor, his lips moving as he carefully considered what he was going to say. His brown eye flicked up to meet hers. "It's bad...isn't it?"

Gail didn't answer; merely hugged herself as she hurried toward the hidden entrance to the basement. But as she yanked open the door and sprinted down the flight of steps, she thought to herself that Mark had guessed absolutely right - it _was_ bad.

It was _very_ bad.


	26. Chapter 26: Drop The World: Pt 2

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I wanted to get Part 2 out as quickly as possible - shit's about to go down, isn't it? As always, I hope you enjoy it, and I am definitely looking forward to telling the rest of it, so I'll have to update more often, huh? XD**

**Thank you to **Esha Napoleon, nikki1335, Shandy777, AprilGilbert1996, Girl on Fire, Animal Luvr 4 Life, **and **NastyGrl25 **for reviewing! I love you ALL! PEACE!**

* * *

Chapter 25: Drop The World: Part 2

"_No, this is not a game/It's just a new beginning..." - 30 Seconds To Mars, "Escape"_

"But that's _impossible_!" Mickie blurted out. Her chest felt constricted, as though the layers of skin and bone surrounding her lungs had inexplicably shrunk, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. "John _told_ me - vamps can't..._have_ children-"

Bryan cleared his throat awkwardly. "That's not..._technically_...true. _Yes_, female vampires can't bear children - for whatever reason, their bodies are incapable of sustaining _any_ life other than their own." The doctor paused, the chair squeaking softly as he shifted a little in his seat. "_Male_ vampires, on the other hand...seem to have no problem fathering offspring."

His eyes flicked upward, meeting Mickie's, and the brunette caught a faint flash of inner pain - deeply rooted anguish that hinted at tragedies witnessed _far_ too often. "The problem is...a human womb simply isn't made to carry a half-vampire child. Ultimately, the fetus grows faster than the mother's body can adapt to accommodate it, and-"

Bryan broke off the sentence, biting his lip. "I don't think I need to describe to you what happens." He didn't - the implied visual that popped into Mickie's head was more than sufficient to make her stomach churn.

Mickie's mouth was as dry as dust; she had to pry her tongue from the roof of her mouth before she could speak. "So...what's going to happen to _me_?" Tears pooled in her eyes, making her vision swim. "Am I going...to _die_?"

The doctor sighed, and the acute misery that crept across his countenance made the brunette's insides clench even tighter. "I don't know," he admitted after a long moment had passed. His eyes met hers once again. "Unlike those other women, you're not entirely human. Even though you haven't turned all the way yet, your body can heal itself quickly than normal, and so far, seems to adapting itself to accommodate the fetus you're carrying."

Bryan hesitated for a second. "But as for carrying this baby to term, or surviving the birth once you go into labor..." The doctor shrugged, the gesture as helpless as the rest of his demeanor. "I can't...answer that."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Gradually, Mickie opened her mouth, not knowing _what_ to say; only that she had to say _something_ - when all of a sudden, the door flew open with a BANG and Gail burst into the room, her almond-shaped eyes wide, her voice uncommonly shrill as she blurted out:

"We've got trouble."

* * *

For a few tense heartbeats of time, no one moved. Eventually, Bryan stirred, and nodding silently at Mickie and Nattie, rose to his feet and followed his assistant out into the hall. Once they were out of the room and the door had swung silently shut behind them, however, the doctor's expression changed, morphing from distress to mild irritation. "This had better be-"

"Randy Orton was just here." Gail's voice was soft and almost forcibly precise, but not even the tight control in her tone was enough to mask the terror simmering in her dark eyes. She wrapped her arms over her torso, hugging herself, swallowing hard before she went on. "He was looking...for Mickie."

As soon as she mentioned the Viper's Pit owner's name, Bryan blanched - even in the dim light, Gail could see that his complexion had suddenly become several shades whiter than normal. "_What_? What does _he_ want with _her_..." He let the query trail off as his assistant shot him a look - a look which implied that _that_ particular question was better off unanswered.

The doctor shook his head abruptly, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper: "How...how could he _possibly_ know that she's _here_?" Gail shrugged, indicating that she was as clueless as he was. Bryan leaned forward a little, peering hard into his assistant's eyes. "Gail? You didn't..._tell him...did _you?"

An uneasy hush fell over the two as the Asian woman ducked her head, her body language radiating culpability. Bryan's features sagged, anxiety and horror flashing across his countenance. "Gail...you _didn't_-"

"I didn't _mean_ to!" Gail interjected sharply. Her voice was louder than she had intended, and the physician's assistant quickly looked away again, her own features crumpling. "It's just that...whenever I see him...I remember what it was _like_ - the _things _he made me _do-" _

The Asian woman sucked in a shallow shaky breath. "I let him_...get_...to me; I let _something _slip out - I don't even remember _what_ I said - and he figured the rest out on his own." She lifted her gaze, her eyes meeting Bryan's. "You _know_ how quick he is."

"Is he still here?" The doctor's tone was flat, unemotional, indicating that he had already started to compartmentalize, his brain racing to find a path out of the quagmire they had inexplicably become mired in.

Gail vehemently shook her head. "No - Mark _escorted_ him out, but..." The physician's assistant bit her lip, tried again. "...he _said_...that he would be _back_."

The Asian woman took a step toward Bryan, peering fearfully up into his face, her voice dropping to a cracking whisper: "Daniel, what are we going to _do_-"

The sound of the door opening startled them both, and the pair whipped around, relaxing slightly when as Nattie emerged from Mickie's room. The blond nurse quickly flashed them an apologetic smile. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you - Mickie said she was thirsty; I was just going to get her some water..."

Her voice trailed off as she noticed the grim expressions on her coworkers' faces, and Nattie looked from one to the other, her grin slowly evaporating. "What's...going on-"

"Listen to me," In a few paces, Bryan closed the distance between himself and the nurse, reaching out to grasp her shoulders. His voice was hoarse, bordering on gruff. "I want you to go upstairs, and go _straight_ home. _Straight_ home, do you understand? Don't stop for _anything_. And make sure Mark or Zeke walks you to your car; I don't want you going all the way to where you have it parked by yourself-"

Nattie gulped, her blue eyes widening. "What's...happening-" She looked over at Gail, her countenance almost pleading. "Gail, what's he-"

"_Please_," For a moment, Bryan's voice cracked and Gail could hear the rasp of his emotions, the raw ache of his desperation, seep through. The doctor stared hard at the blond nurse. "I _swear_ that I'll explain everything later, but right now, _please..._just do this for me."

A second crawled by. Then two. Then ten. Gradually, Nattie nodded, her full lips trembling. "All right..." Her expression still unsure, she sidled around the pair, pushing open the stairwell door that led to the main floor of the clinic and vanishing from sight.

As soon as she was gone, Bryan turned back toward his assistant. "You're not the only one with bad news." He took a step toward Gail. "We did an ultrasound on Mickie...the fetus is more than halfway to term by now." Another step. "There's no _way_ that the father of that baby is human."

Gail's mouth dropped open, a shocked gasp escaping her throat. "Oh my God..."

Bryan moved even closer. "It's one thing if Randy comes back here and finds her...but if he finds out that she's _pregnant_...with a _halfbreed_-"

"-he'll sell her to the highest bidder." Gail interjected hollowly, finishing the remainder of the grim thought.

The doctor looked away; Gail could tell by the way that he was chewing the inside of his cheek that he was thinking hard. "There's only one thing...I can think of to do," He hesitated. "She can't stay here." Another hesitation, followed by an even more tentative glance in her direction. "We _have_...to send her back to Cena."

The Asian woman's response was immediate and explosive. "Are you _insane_?" the physician's assistant hissed.

"Would you keep your voice down?" Bryan retorted, anger bleeding into his voice.

Gail grudgingly lowered her volume, but none of her forcefulness, stabbing her index finger in the direction of Mickie's room. "_He_ _shot_ _her_. He _shot_ her for trying to protect a _vampire_ - a vampire who, in _all_ likelihood, is the father of her _child_!" She took a step back, staring at Bryan with furious incredulity. "She could turn any day now - if she so much as sprouts fangs while she's around Cena, he'll put a _bullet_ in her head-"

"You think I _like_ this option?" Bryan's voice was practically a roar by now, and it was only with the profoundest effort that he was able to lower it to a more reasonable level. He gazed at his assistant, his expression hovering between helplessness and ire. "I don't _like_ this any more than you do - _but we have no choice_!"

He reached up, cupping Gail's face between both of his hands. His voice had dropped to a low murmur. "When you're a doctor, the hardest thing you learn is knowing when to _walk away_ - to put down the paddles and step back, because there is _nothing more_ you can do."

Bryan paused, drawing in a breath before continuing. "This is a hospital, not a fortress. Orton is a _psychopath_ - I don't _know _what Mickie is to him, but he will burn this place to the _ground_ in order to find her. I _know_ you want to protect her - so do _I_ - but we _can't_. We can't sacrifice..._everything_ we've built...just for the sake of one person." His voice trembled, emotion cracking the edges of it. "We _can't_..._help her...anymore_."

Gail didn't answer, but Bryan caught the faint sparkle of a tear trickling down her cheek. He leaned closer, pressing his forehead against hers. "Look...you go upstairs and make sure everything's locked up, I'll call Cena, and then we'll _both_ stay with her until he arrives."

"Who..." The doctor could feel the vibrations of Gail's tentative voice pulsating against his skin. "Who's going...to tell Mickie?"

Bryan sighed. "_I _will. This is _my_ decision...so it's _my _responsibility to tell her."

Another long pause...then he felt the Asian woman nod. "All right..." Reluctantly, she pulled back from him, shoving her hands into the deep pockets of her white doctor's coat and trudging toward the stairwell door.

"Gail?" At the faltering sound of Bryan's voice, the physician's assistant paused, but did not turn around. The doctor licked his lips. "We're not..._abandoning_ her; it's just...we have no _choice_-"

"Keep telling yourself that," There was a bitterness in Gail's tone, and Bryan knew at that moment that their relationship would never be quite the same after this - that _this_ would be the one thing she would never forgive him for. The Asian woman looked back at him, a tress of black hair slipping loose from her bun and falling against her cheek. Her expression was unreadable; a strange amalgamation of recrimination and sympathy. "Maybe if you do...we'll _both_ start believing it."

With that, she shoved the door open, disappearing into the stairwell.

* * *

Mickie leaned back against the pillow, listening to the faint patter of Gail's footsteps as she jogged up the basement stairs. The brunette pressed her palms together, steepling her fingers under her chin as she stared up at the ceiling. Her scarred features were outwardly calm...but beneath that serene facade, her mind was racing.

She had known that something was wrong as soon as Gail had burst into the room; had known it from the expression on her face. The fact that she and the doctor had held their frantic conversation _outside _the room made no difference - it hadn't taken much effort for Mickie's preternatural hearing to pick up what they were saying...or for her blood to run cold when she heard the Asian woman utter those five awful words:

_Randy Orton was just here_...

Sending Nattie for water had just been a pretense; an excuse to eavesdrop without fear of discovery. Now, lying here, Mickie almost wished that she hadn't sent the blond nurse away; that she had contributed to Nattie's awkward attempts at casual conversation and thus remained ignorant of the discussion she had just heard.

Five minutes ago, she'd been floored by the revelation that the child growing inside her was half-vampire. Now, three hundred scant seconds later, the paternity of her baby seemed almost inconsequential - now the stakes had suddenly become higher.

Now...it was all about..._survival_.

The fact that Randy had somehow found her - _here_, of all places - was chilling enough. It seemed that no matter how far she ran, or how fast, it was never quite far or fast enough to outrun the Viper's Pit owner. But somehow, that revelation was eclipsed by the one that followed - that instead of protecting her, Bryan was casting her out.

Casting her out...and sending her back...to the one person she wanted even less to do with than Randy.

The lead Hunter and the Viper's Pit owner might be worlds apart...but in some twisted way, they were both identical barrels of the same shotgun. For the two of them, it was all about _control_, about _authority_, about _absolute obedience_ no matter what the cost or consequences. And in a sense, John was worse, because his world was as stark black and white as Randy's was uniformly gray - you either _were _or you _weren't_, and if you didn't belong to one thing, you immediately fell in with the other because _that_ was the way John saw things; the _only_ way he viewed the world.

For the last three years, she had existed in a prison of her and Randy's making - a prison constructed not of metal and stone, but of sex and shame and psychological control. She wasn't quite out of that prison, not yet - but she was far enough out the door to experience what freedom felt like; to comprehend how intoxicating liberation can be.

However, if she ended up in the clutches of the Hunters, that prison would become very literal; a cage without windows, without _light_, where the jailers would watch her every movement out of their corner of their eye, waiting for her to turn so they could put her down like an animal...

She would never be free again. She would never see Dave again. And worst of all...what would happen to her _baby_? Even if she survived its birth, would they take it away from her?

Or would they kill it, too, once they found out what it was?

She could not allow that to happen. She would _die_ before letting that happen.

Mickie felt a humorless smile touch the corners of her lips. The doc _was _right: she _couldn't_ stay here...but there was also no way in _hell _that she was going back to John and his team of killers.

Which left...only one other option.

Mickie rolled over onto her side, her mind still processing possibilities. During her better days, she had taken walks around the layout of the basement clinic, supported by Gail and her IV stand. As a result, she knew that, barring the stairs up to the main floor, there was only one door leading to the outside...and that Dr. Bryan had the sole key.

Gritting her teeth and using the rails on either side of the bed, Mickie pulled herself up into a sitting position, wincing at the throb of discomfort from her wounded side. She carefully peeled the clear protective tape from her IV line, trying not to shriek as the adhesive strips yanked out hairs by the roots. Once it was off, she yanked the needle out of her skin, hissing sharply in pain.

Immediately, a dark bead of blood bubbled up from the puncture site, but Mickie ignored it, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Taking a deep breath, she slid off the mattress and stood up.

Her legs instantly buckled, almost giving out beneath her, and the world turned sideways as Mickie experienced a rush of vertigo. But the brunette merely ground her teeth together and forced it back, holding onto the bed rail with both hands for dear life until her surroundings had stopped spinning and objects had returned to their proper positions in the physical world.

She took one unsteady step, two, gripping the bed rail until she was absolutely sure that her shaky limbs were not going to give out on her. Mickie released her hold on the metal bar, panting for breath. _Okay..._she told herself. _You're up. Now...to find a weapon..._

The brunette looked all around the cramped confines of the recovery room, her brown irises silently scanning her options. Everything seemed to be either too big or too flimsy to be of any use to her - and then she saw it.

Sticking out from under the bed was a stainless steel bedpan, about a foot in length, slightly tapered at one end - Mickie vaguely remembered puking into it during her detox period. Grabbing onto the bed for support, she bent her knees and awkwardly lowered herself enough to grab the pan. It was heavier than she had anticipated, but it had a nice wide flat edge to hold onto...and hopefully, she would only need to swing it once.

The brunette crept toward the door, her gait still slightly unstable, the linoleum floor ice-cold beneath her bare feet. She grabbed the handle, pulling it open a crack and pressing her eye to the sliver of open space to ascertain her current situation.

The little corridor area that branched off into the various recovery rooms was empty. Beyond it, where the hallway opened up into the main area, she could see Bryan. By some miracle of miracles, his back was to her. He seemed to be talking on a cell phone - even with her ultra-sensitive hearing, Mickie could only make out fragments of what he was saying: "...look, I _know_ what I...don't have time to...just get here as..."

The scarred brunette squeezed her eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath. Her heart was pounding in her ears, drowning out everything else; she could taste her pulse. Part of her - the sensible part, or perhaps the _cowardly_ part_ - _wanted to stop this; to drop the bedpan, crawl back into bed, and forget about _all_ of this.

But she couldn't - because that would mean giving up. She hadn't given up in that alley three years ago; why the hell should she give up now? Somewhere out there, Dave was _alive_ - she just _knew_ it - her one bright spot of happiness and warmth in a life full of misery and cold. More than that, she was carrying _his_ _child_ - a baby that defied possibility; a child that was human _and_ vampire, both and neither one at the same time.

_I live in a gray area...just like you..._

_ We don't belong anywhere...the gray areas are the only places where we can exist; where we can survive..._

_ Trust me...believe me...and know that when I said I loved you...I meant it..._

Mickie slowly opened her eyes. She could never return to that black-and-white world that John was a part of - the only place she belonged, the only place she would _ever_ be _truly _happy...was in one of those gray areas, with Dave, and their baby. _That_ was where she needed to return.

And if she didn't act _right now_...she would _never_ get another chance.

Pulling the door open wider, Mickie slipped out into the corridor area. Bryan still had his back to her, and she moved toward him with all the silence and speed that her enhanced reflexes could provide. Blood trickled down her arm, making it hard to hold onto the bedpan, but she stubbornly gripped it with both hands, hefting it up as she neared the doctor.

Just as she got within arms-length of him, Bryan abruptly froze, as though sensing her presence. "Hold on a second - Gail, is that-" He turned, his eyes widening in astonishment at seeing the scarred brunette on her feet and directly behind him. "Mickie-"

He never even got the chance to finish his sentence, as Mickie swung the bedpan as hard as she could. The metal receptacle caught the doctor in the jaw with a dull CLANG, knocking him back and onto the floor, his skull bouncing sickeningly off the scuffed linoleum.

Mickie immediately dropped the bedpan, kneeling down and rummaging through Bryan's various pockets in search of the keys. She finally located them in his front pants pocket; as she pulled them out, the doctor uttered a low groan, his closed eyelids parting just enough to reveal a sliver of white beneath.

In spite of her haste, in spite of the little voice screaming at her to _keep moving_, Mickie hesitated, reaching out to touch Bryan's stubbled cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm sorry, I really am - but I can't let them take me-"

"Doc?" At the sound of John's voice, Mickie froze. It took a moment or two before her stunned paralysis evaporated and she realized that the voice was coming from the doctor's iPhone, still clenched in his outstretched hand.

The lead Hunter spoke again, his military-like impatience and brusqueness apparent even though a tinny cell phone speaker: "Doc? Are you still there? Doc? _Doc_?"

Mickie rose to her feet, moving toward the basement exit, forcing the doctor and the voice at the other end of his phone back into insignificance. She examined the keyring - there weren't a large number of keys on it, but they all looked alike; she was going to have to try each one.

Swallowing hard, the brunette selected the first key, her hand trembling as she guided it toward the lock...

* * *

Gail jumped and shrieked as the alarm went off, the sound of it a harsh electronic blat. Next to her, Ezekiel Jackson, one of the clinic's other orderlies, clapped his hands over his ears. "What the hell's that noise?" he bellowed, trying to make himself heard over the din.

The Asian woman pressed her palm to her ears. "It's the basement entrance," she shouted. "Someone opened the door without deactivating the alarm-" The remainder of her words were drowned out by a second alarm, its atonal clang mingling with the first and creating an unbearable cacophony.

Gail frowned. "That's the motion sensors," she remarked, even though she was pretty sure Ezekiel couldn't hear her. "Someone's in the back..." Her voice trailed off as a horrible possibility abruptly dawned on her. "...yard." She sprinted toward the rear of the clinic, tiptoeing up to one of the windows. As she did, she spotted a moving blur of white in the overgrown backyard, vaulting over the fence and quickly disappearing from view.

The physician's assistant's almond-shaped eyes widened. "_Shit_!" she screamed. Sprinting toward the hidden basement entrance, Ezekiel right behind her, she took the steps two at a time, tripping on the bottom one and wrenching her knee painfully in the process.

Clenching her teeth, the Asian woman yanked open the stairwell door, hobbling out into the basement clinic - her heart stopping when she saw Bryan, sprawled out and motionless on the floor, the basement entrance door wide open.

Gail vaguely remembered screaming, although she could barely hear it over the clamor of the dual alarms. "_Daniel_!" She limped over, slumping down beside him, touching his face. "Daniel, _speak_ to me-"

As soon as her fingers grazed his skin, the doctor groaned and opened his eyes, which were glazed and unfocused. "Gail? Wha-"

The Asian woman let her breath out in a long shaky exhale that was practically a sob. "Oh, thank God," she murmured, more to herself than to him. She leaned down, trying to speak as loud as she could without screaming: "What happened?"

Bryan groaned again. "Mickie...all a sudden, I turned around and she was right behind me...she _hit_ me..." He turned his head to the side, and Gail noticed for the first time the large irregular bruise that was already starting to form around his jawline.

In the back of her mind, Gail knew that she had to turn the alarms off; that she had to start returning some semblance of order to the clinic, but instead, she leaned down even further, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Daniel..._where's Mickie_?"

Bryan's eyes stared straight ahead, focusing not on his assistant - but on the open door, and just outside it, the expanse of the world beyond. His lips moved, and even though she couldn't hear his voice, Gail still felt her heart sink as she discerned what he was saying:

_"She's gone, Gail...she's gone..."_


	27. Chapter 27: Collide

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I have to say, I'm really enjoying working on this story - it keeps me sane while dealing with my depressing screenplay. Hopefully, you'll continue to enjoy it.**

**Thank you to **Animal Luvr 4 Life, Esha Napoleon, AprilGilbert1996, Shandy777, Nastygrl25, Girl on Fire, BigRedMachineUK, **and **nikki1335 **for reviewing the last chapter! You know that I love you ALL! PEACE!**

* * *

Chapter 26: Collide

"_Out of the doubt that fills my mind/I somehow find/You and I collide..." -Howie Day, "Collide"_

Mickie sagged against the brick wall, the sharp edges of the building blocks digging into her back through the thin fabric of her hospital gown. She wasn't sure how long she had been running, or even where she was - all she knew was that she couldn't move another step. Her heart was racing, her lungs burning with each inhalation of oxygen, and there was an enormous stitch in her wounded side, making breathing even more difficult. Given her weakened state, it was probably a miracle she had even made it this far.

The brunette felt her legs tremble, then give out altogether as the strength abruptly left them, and she collapsed awkwardly on the pavement, scraping her knees in the process. Mickie winced and bit her lip, tears pooling in her brown eyes. Her reaction wasn't because of the pain, however - but because the discomfort had pierced through the haze of raw panic surrounding her, allowing rationality to finally seep through...along with the cold hard reality of her situation.

Right now, she had no money, no place to go - she couldn't return to her apartment; in fact, she couldn't go anywhere _near_ the Viper's Pit. Even these shadows, which had once shielded her from the rest of the world, were no longer safe...because it was in these same shadows that her numerous pursuers lurked - Randy, John, the vamps that had stolen her life.

She could keep running, of course - but in her current diminished state, how far would she get before they caught up with her...or before her body gave out entirely? And she couldn't let _that_ happen; there was her _baby _to think about. This child...it was _special_, and more than that, it was _Dave's - _she couldn't do anything that might put it in danger.

Mickie's full lips quivered, her shoulders shaking as she began to cry. When she'd yanked open the basement door and her bare feet had first touched cool damp grass, she had felt exhilarated, her mouth full of the intoxicating taste of freedom. But now, huddled here in this alley, slumped against this cold unyielding brick wall, surrounded by darkness that was both comforting and ominous...she was starting to wonder if she'd really escaped at all.

"You look lost."

Mickie jumped as the voice floated up abruptly out of the shadows. The brunette looked up sharply, swiping hastily at her tear-stained cheeks, her brown irises rapidly scanning the darkness. Even with her enhanced senses, it still took her a few seconds to pick out the voice's owner.

He was seated a few feet away, on the opposite side of the narrow alley, ensconced within a miniature alcove comprised of bundled trash bags. He looked to be in his fifties or sixties, with a grizzled, worn appearance, his dirty ragtag assortment of clothes marking him as homeless. There was a wooden two-by-four lying across his lap; it looked as weather-beaten as its owner.

Mickie wiped her nose with the back of her head, staring suspiciously at the homeless man. "Who...who are _you_?" she asked, her voice still thick with unshed tears.

The old man's face twitched, his mouth curling into a lopsided smile. "Me? They call me Hacksaw." He leaned forward a little, propping his elbows on the board. "Hack, to my friends."

He paused, staring at her expectantly, and Mickie realized that he was waiting for her to response in kind. The brunette sucked in a breath, fully intending to tell whoever this guy was to go to hell - and was astonished when what popped out of her mouth instead was: "Mickie."

"Mickie," Hacksaw enunciated her name slowly, almost like he was rolling the syllables around in his mouth. He leaned back against his own wall, his gaze still fixed on the scarred brunette. "So, Mickie...what's a pretty girl like you doing shivering out here in the cold?"

The query should have sounded lecherous, or at the very least, _creepy_ - but yet, when Hacksaw uttered the words, Mickie heard nothing but genuine empathy and caring in his tone. A huge ball of emotion suddenly swelled in her throat, almost choking her, and it was only with the profoundest effort that she was able to reply: "Running..."

"I can see that," Hacksaw replied matter-of-factly. His gaze swept over her almost perfunctorily - taking in her hospital gown and scrub pants, the bruised and filthy soles of her bare feet - before focusing once more on her face. "Must be real bad...whatever it is you're running from."

At this, Mickie let out a bitter strangled sound, lodged somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She leaned her head back against the wall. "It's...kind of a long story."

Hacksaw nodded seriously. "I imagine it is," he answered with only the faintest trace of irony. "Well, then..." The homeless man paused, and flipping the board vertically with one fluid practiced motion, he planted one edge against the pavement, using it for support as he struggled up to his feet. That accomplished, he shuffled over toward Mickie, holding out his hand. "Shall we?"

Mickie looked from the outstretched limb to his face, clearly uncomprehending. The lopsided smile reappeared on Hacksaw's grizzled features, and he chuckled softly. "No offense...but when I see someone as young as you, no shoes, looking like they just escaped from a hospital - I tend to think that not only are they running away from something...but they also don't want to be found."

To this, the scarred brunette looked away, biting her lip. Hacksaw's face softened. "Look, I'm not asking you to tell me your story - that's _your_ business. But it's pretty obvious that you've got nowhere to go, and while I know you have no reason to trust me-"

_Trust me...believe me...and know that when I told you I loved you...I meant it..._

"-but _on my honor_, as long as you're with me and my family-"

_No matter what happens after this...I promise..._

"-I won't let anything happen to you._"_

..._No one will ever hurt you again..._

Mickie blinked, tears welling up in her eyes once again. The thing of it was that she _did_ trust Hacksaw; trusted him with the sort of immediate intuition that somehow always turns out to be right. It didn't make any sense...but then again, neither did falling in love with a bloodsucker, or being pregnant with a half-vampire baby.

The fact that it was _all _so senseless was the only thing that _made_ sense - and perhaps, for once, instead of rebelling against inevitability, she should start embracing it.

The scarred brunette sniffed, turning back toward Hacksaw. Drawing in a deep breath, she hesitantly accepted the homeless man's hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

Hacksaw smiled again, and making a little bow, offered her his arm. Mickie tentatively took it, leaning against the homeless man for support, her exhausted pace matching his unsteady gait.

They had only gone a few feet before Hacksaw spoke again. "I have to warn you, though, about the place we're going to-"

He paused, hesitating over his next words: "The smell...takes some getting used to."

* * *

"How could you be so _stupid_?"

Cena paced across the waiting area of the basement clinic, his handsome features fixed in a countenance of icy fury. He ran both hands over his closely-cropped hair, his gun belt clinking softly in time with his relentless stride.

From her vantage point near the rear exit, Beth watched silently, arms crossed over her chest, her posture warily alert. The lead Hunter paid her no notice; all of his attention was focused on the pair of medical professionals in front of him. Bryan had a ice pack pressed to his face; his jaw was swollen and purple from the bedpan blow. Gail sat next to him, her arm wrapped protectively around his shoulders, her expression a mixture of concern and resentment.

Cena halted, his army boots squeaking on the linoleum floor, looming over the physician and his assistant. His voice was a flat merciless growl. "I _trusted_ you, Doc." The lead Hunter slowly shook his head. "You should have taken precautions; you should have locked her in her room-"

"You son of a _bitch_!" Gail sprang to her feet, matching Cena glare for glare despite their difference in height. "You think this is _our_ fault?" Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed. "_We're_ not the ones who-"

"That's _enough_, Gail!" Bryan's tone, though quiet, held an unmistakable ring of authority, and the physician's assistant reluctantly snapped her mouth shut, sinking back down into her seat and glowering at the lead Hunter.

With effort, the doctor lifted his head, fixing his eyes on Cena. "What Gail _meant_ to say is: this isn't a _prison_ - we're not in the habit of keeping people against their will. And since we're _talking_ about _dropping the ball_-"

Bryan paused, pulling the ice pack from his face, leaning back in his chair as he stared hard at Cena. All ebullience had evaporated from his expression, and his voice was as emotionless as the lead Hunter's. "-why didn't you _mention_ when you brought Mickie in here that she belonged to _Randy Orton_?"

Cena's response was immediate, genuine bewilderment briefly eclipsing his customary dispassionate countenance. "Who?" He looked back at Beth for assistance, but the blond woman merely lifted her shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. The lead Hunter looked back at Bryan, comprehension gradually dawning on his strong-featured face. "Wait..._that_ guy? The sleaze-bag who owns the bar-"

"He's more than that," Gail's voice, so forceful a moment ago, was now soft, almost inaudible. She looked up at Cena, and the lead Hunter saw for the first time the fear tugging at the edges of her expression - real raw terror that she was tamping back with everything she had. The Asian woman swallowed hard; went on. "He controls a good chunk of this city's drug trade, most of it going in or out of the Viper's Pit - whatever gets you high, you can be sure to find it there."

The physician's assistant gulped again, tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear. "It's no secret - everyone around here knows it, even the cops. But the reason no one's busted him yet-"

"-is because of his _other_ profession." Bryan interjected quietly. Gail looked over at him, startled by the interruption, but clearly relieved that the physician had intervened. Bryan reached over, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before continuing. "I don't know what you would call him - I don't think there's a word for what he _really_ is - but I guess you could say that he's a broker."

The doctor paused, laying particular emphasis on his next words: "A broker...to _vampires_."

Cena froze; behind him, Beth slowly drew up to her full height, her hand stealing reflexively to her gun belt. Bryan went on. "He deals in information, mostly, but I've heard of him branching out to other things - weapons, ammunition...and sometimes...even-"

The physician hesitated again, before reluctantly spitting out the remainder of the sentence: "-_human beings_."

"It's a good system," Gail cut in bitterly. Her voice was shriller than before, her words tumbling out almost one on top of the other, as though she was teetering on the brink of hysteria. "He helps the vamps; in turn, they pay off the cops so he can keep on being a bad little boy. _Everybody_ wins...except for..." She swallowed hard. "Except for...the rest of us."

"You're lucky, you know?" Bryan's remark was directed at Cena, his tone holding only a faint hint of accusation. "You get to leave once your job is done - you don't have to deal with the fallout. You may think that it's all about the fighting, but there's a political side to this thing, too; one that kicks in once the dust has settled...and with you gone, it's people like me and Gail who inevitably end up getting hit with the backlash."

The physician slowly shook his head. "Orton may not look it, but he wields a _lot_ of power in this town - a lot of _wrong_ power - and if you take something from him, he will not _forgive_, he will not _forget_, he will not _stop_...until he gets it back."

Bryan lifted his chin, his eyes boring into Cena's. "_Now_ do you understand why we can't keep her here?"

For several long tense moments, no one said anything. Gradually, Cena stirred, his features shifting slightly, resuming their usual countenance of indecipherability. His lips barely moved as he spoke. "No one..._ever_..._forced you_...to do what you do." Without adding anything further, the lead Hunter turned smartly on his heel, striding out the open door.

Beth watched him cross the backyard, her face a mixture of helpless incredulity, before looking back toward the pair of medical professionals. Concern briefly flitted across her features, softening her expression. "We'll get her back - don't worry." she whispered - with that, she turned, following after her fellow Hunter.

Cena had just reached the wooden gate when Beth's voice floated up behind him out of the darkness. "You know...you could have used a little bit more tact back there."

The lead Hunter paused, but did not turn around. "Tact is for diplomats, Phoenix - and that's not what we are. Besides..." He looked back, focusing on the blond woman. "_I'm _not the one who let her escape."

Beth said nothing. Like Cena, she, too, was dressed all in black; her fair hair and skin glowing like ghostly beacons in the darkness. The lead Hunter couldn't quite discern her features...but yet, he had no problems reading her expression. "What? What is it?" Cena turned around fully, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "C'mon, Phoenix, _spit it out_-"

The blond woman shrugged, the gesture somehow simultaneously conveying nothing and everything at the same time. "Nothing...except...maybe Randy isn't the only thing she's running from."

"What do you mean?" Cena asked. Beth merely stared back at him pointedly, raising her eyebrows. The lead Hunter frowned, awareness gradually flitting across his face. "Are you saying...she's scared of _us_?"

Beth shrugged again. "You _did_ shoot her-"

Something dark and ugly flickered across Cena's features, and in the back of her mind, the blond woman was vaguely aware that she was treading dangerously close to the line. The lead Hunter's voice was a raspy growl, the roughness of his tone almost succeeding in masking the guilt and remorse lurking underneath. "_That..._was an _accident_-"

Beth crossed her arms over her chest, her posture mimicking Cena's. "It would seem that she doesn't quite see it that way."

Stony silence greeted her words. Eventually, Cena sagged a little, but his expression didn't relax one iota. "Whatever," the lead Hunter snapped, his tone brusque and clipped. "The only thing that matters right now is finding Mickie and _bringing her back_-"

"John." The lead Hunter froze at the use of his first name - his relationship with Beth was something that never left the confines of their base; in the outside world, she never called him anything other than "Cena".

The blond woman slowly approached him, and in a move that was even more astonishing, took his hand; holding it between both of hers. Her voice was soft, hesitant. "I'm just like you, okay? I try not to think about what's past...but sometimes, I wonder what Rob would think...what he would _say_...if he could see us all right now."

Cena emphatically shook his head. "I don't think about that." It was a lie, and both of them knew it. "I..._can't_...think about that."

Beth bowed her head, squeezing Cena's hand before reluctantly releasing it. "Maybe you should."

* * *

Hacksaw hadn't been kidding about the smell - more than once during their trek through the sewer tunnels, the two of them had had to pause so that Mickie could throw up. Now, clinging weakly to his back, her stomach churning from the sickening combination of Hacksaw's body odor and the reek of their surroundings, the scarred brunette found herself wondering (for not the first time) just _what_ exactly she had allowed herself to be coaxed into.

"We're here!" Hacksaw's voice - cheerful and bordering on chipper - cut through her thoughts, and Mickie slowly opened her eyes, lifting her head to peer dazedly at their new environment. The decrepit subway station smelled almost as bad as the sewer tunnels, but it was warm down here - more than that, there was a safety about this place, a feeling of security. She could feel it, _sense_ it, in the same way she had known that she could implicitly trust Hacksaw.

The homeless man relaxed his grip, allowing Mickie to ease back down to the floor. He had carried the scarred brunette all the way here - a courtesy, so that she wouldn't have to trudge barefoot through raw sewage. He was stronger than he looked - Mickie realized now that his vow to protect her was no empty promise.

Hacksaw looked around proudly, drawing in a deep satisfied breath as though the air was filled with the aroma of baking cookies rather than human shit. "Home sweet-" His voice trailed off as he looked back at Mickie, and the scarred brunette could tell by the way his grizzled features were sagging in disbelief that he was probably getting his first good look at her ruined face.

"My God," There was shock and awe in Hacksaw's tone, and the old man shuffled toward her, reaching out with one gloved hand to touch her scarred cheek. Mickie tensed, bracing herself for the inevitable rejection, but Hacksaw merely turned her face one way, then the other, scanning the old wounds with a sort of perfunctory fascination. "They really did a number on you, didn't they?"

Looking into his face, Mickie saw none of the things she was accustomed to - no judgement, no disgust, no pity...merely sympathy and concern. With a start, she realized that, to this homeless man, she wasn't a freak of nature - merely another unfortunate human being in need of aid.

The scarred brunette ducked her head, trying to blink away the tears that had inexplicably materialized in her eyes. "Thank you..." she whispered. "Thank you...for...this-"

Hacksaw's face relaxed in an affectionate smile, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, supporting her as they trudged toward the platform. "It's no trouble - seems like all we've been doing lately is taking in strays-"

He lifted her up onto the platform, then clambered up himself, skirting around the embers of the dying fire. "You can bed down with Serena for now - she should be back shortly." The homeless man gestured toward one end of the platform. He turned, indicating the other. "I sleep over there, with Evan and Truth - wait here a sec; I'll bring them out and introduce you-"

_Mickie oh God Mickie where are you why did I leave you Mickie-_

The scarred brunette flinched, letting out a soft strangled cry as the sound tore through her head. It wasn't a _voice_ so much as a _presence_, slipping in and out of her mind in very much the same way that a radio tuner picks up a snippet of a station before dissolving back into white noise.

But what was even more telling than her awareness of its existence was the fact that she _recognized_ it.

Hacksaw, meanwhile, was staring at her with more than a little concern. "Mickie? Are you all right?"

Mickie barely heard him; she was too busy looking down the dim expanse of the corridor behind them. There was a closed door near the end of it, and the scarred brunette could feel herself being drawn to it, like a moth toward an open flame, not really knowing _why_, only that they _must_.

She shook her head. "I'm..._fine_...but - is there someone else here?"

Hacksaw followed her line of sight, his grizzled countenance sobering. "Yeah...but he's not doing so hot. He doesn't come out of that room anymore - I don't even know if he _eats_." The homeless man flicked his gaze back toward Mickie, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "If you ask me...Dave is dying of a broken heart-"

"_Dave_?" Before she was even aware that she was doing so, Mickie grabbed the edges of Hacksaw's torn jacket, jerking him toward her. The old man's eyes bulged in surprise, but Mickie didn't notice; the words were pouring out of her almost too fast to be understood: "This guy - is he...a _big_ man?"

Hacksaw slowly nodded, his face creasing in befuddlement. "Yeah-"

"Is he..." Mickie hesitated, debating for a second or two whether or not to utter the next word - and finally decided just to go with it. "...a _vampire_?"

At this, the homeless man's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "How did you-" His words trailed off into silence as comprehension gradually dawned on his features, and when he finally _did_ speak, his tone was almost reverential. "Oh my God..._you_..._you're_ what he lost-"

Mickie could feel tears climbing up her throat, and part of her wanted to collapse, to break down entirely, but she forced herself to remain calm. She _had_ to keep it together...until she was absolutely sure. For a moment, she heard Gail's voice in her head, the words as clear and audible as though the Asian woman was standing right next to her-

_I have to believe that there's something bigger than all of us, ya know?_

_ I mean...it can't be all just random coincidence...right?_

The scarred brunette swallowed hard. "Can I..." Her voice cracked, and she paused for a few seconds to regain her composure. "Can I..._see _him?"

Hacksaw stared at her, and after what felt like an eternity, gradually nodded. "Of course."

* * *

He was drowning - that was the only way to describe it - trapped in a haze that was part hallucination, part memory, part waking nightmare. For Dave, it was like the worst kind of hell - the unbearable ache of human emotions combined with the ceaseless echo of eternity.

He had eaten his way through the last of the rats a few days ago, but rather than venturing back up to the surface to soothe the hunger pains raging within him, the vampire instead remained on his makeshift bed on the floor of the supply closet, cheek pressed to the cold dirty cement floor, eyes staring dully ahead at nothing.

Dave wasn't afraid of dying - he wasn't sure if vampires could even die of starvation - no, what he truly feared at this point was _living_; the dread that he would regain his strength only to find that there was nothing left to live for.

What was the point of immortality if _she_ was gone?

The vampire knew that he had changed; that he was a far cry from the clueless bloodsucker sitting at the bar drinking a beer. He was older now, _harder_, in a way that had nothing to do with years and _everything_ to do with experience, and all he wanted at this point was to disappear; to fall into a black soundless void and never see or partake in anything ever again.

There was a low CREAK as the door swung open, and Dave immediately let out a ominous guttural growl; the sound of it more bestial than human. Every so often, Hacksaw or one of his family would poke their head in, probably to see if he was still alive - that growl was the vampire's way of letting them know that, not only was he still living, but he did _not_ want to be disturbed.

Instead of closing, however, the door remained open, and Dave's ears soon picked up the soft hesitant sound of footsteps on the floor. They sounded almost like Serena's - by now, he could identify every member of Hacksaw's family by their tread - but there was..._different_...about it.

As the steps drew nearer and nearer, Dave squeezed his eyes shut and hunched his massive shoulders, wishing that they would all just go away, that they would leave him alone and _let him die_-

"Dave?"

For the big man, that single syllable was like the sharp startling sound of breaking glass. He froze, certain that he was dreaming or hallucinating or _something_...because there was no way that _this_ was real. There was no way that _this_ was _possible._

But then he felt the light brush of fingertips on his cheek, and all at once, he knew that this was _real_, this was _possible_ - and it was really happening.

The vampire rolled over onto his back, his breath catching in his throat when he saw the figure kneeling beside him. "_Mickie_?"

The scarred brunette nodded. Tears pooled in her brown eyes, glittering in the nearly non-existent light. She was thinner, paler, and more haggard than she had been the last time Dave had seen her...but yet, he couldn't remember the last time he had seen anything more beautiful.

Slowly, the vampire pushed himself up into a sitting position, staring at Mickie with equal parts awe and suspicion, certain that any moment, he was going to jerk awake and all this would melt into nothing. His dark eyes swept over her petite form, drinking in the flimsy hospital attire, the bruised IV puncture mark on her arm, before once more focusing on her face. His lips moved; he could barely hear his voice over the thunder of his heartbeat. "You look like hell."

At this, Mickie's features collapsed into a smile; a grin that was somehow bitter and exhausted and sad and elated all at once. "Likewise," she remarked; her voice, though weak and cracking with emotion, was still as sardonic as ever.

Hesitantly, Dave reached out, cupping her cheek in his hand, feeling something inside him melt at the sensation of smooth skin and textured scar tissue beneath his fingertips. He couldn't speak; there was an enormous lump lodged in his throat, making all speech impossible.

Mickie closed her eyes, sighing softly as she leaned into his touch, holding his hand against her face with both of hers. Her lips moved slightly, uttering one final phrase: "_I missed you_..."

As soon as the words floated out into the air, Dave pulled her to him, tears streaming down his cheeks as he covered her face with kisses. He captured her mouth with his, his lips moving over hers hungrily. Mickie wrapped her arms around his neck, arching her body against his as she kissed him back.

From his vantage point at the doorway, Hacksaw smiled. Turning decorously away from the embracing couple, he quietly pulled the door shut.


	28. Chapter 28: Black Clouds

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! This one is kind of short, but then again, its length is what it is. I just hope that you enjoy it either way. Just I'll have to get the next one out soon, huh? Anyways, ENJOY! PEACE!**

**Thank you to **BigRedMachineUK, DannyBoo511, Esha Napoleon, Shandy777, AprilGilbert1996, Girl on Fire, nikki1335, **and **Nastygrl25 **for reviewing the last chapter! You ROCK and I love you ALL! **

* * *

Chapter 27: Black Clouds

"_Now this angry little girl/Drowning in this petty world/And I'm who you run to..." - Goo Goo Dolls, "Big Machine"_

Mickie lay on the makeshift bed in the supply closet, enfolded in Dave's arms. She was exhausted - even while on morphine, she hadn't felt this tired - but no matter how many times she closed her eyes, she just couldn't quite tumble over that single step into oblivious slumber.

Part of it was her surroundings - the smell, the hard dirty floor beneath her, the faint _scritch scritch _of rats in the walls - but the scarred brunette knew that it was more than just her current environment that was keeping her awake.

Namely, it was the fact that, as much as she wanted to lose herself in this indescribable sense of peace, she knew that - just like everything else - it was not destined to last.

Because her relationship with Dave had never been peaceful...and because they couldn't stay here.

"Why not?"

Mickie jumped as Dave's voice broke the stillness, the sound of it vibrating through his broad chest. The brunette lifted her head, peering over at her vampire lover. "Are you reading my mind?" Her tone held more amusement than accusation, however.

The big man grinned sheepishly. "A little bit," he admitted. "But you're also kind of blasting on full volume right now." Dave's expression sobered, and he disentangled one of his arms, reaching up to touch her face. "Mickie...what's wrong?"

Mickie swallowed hard, abruptly pulling away from Dave and sitting up. The scarred brunette drew in a shuddering breath; she could feel her entire body shaking. She could feel the words on her tongue, ready to be vocalized...but at the same time, she _couldn't_ say them; it was as though she was somehow trapped in this moment of anticipation.

She had thought that telling Dave about the attack had been the hardest thing she had ever done - well, she was wrong. The trepidation she had felt then was _nothing_ compared to the sensations overwhelming her right now.

Talking about the attack...it had merely eased the stranglehold of the past. Telling Dave about _this_...would bring with it the inevitable weight of the future.

Behind her, she felt Dave push his massive body up into a sitting position; felt his hands tentatively touch her waist. "Come on, Mickie..." His lips grazed the curve of her ear. "You know...that you can tell me." As soon as he said it, Mickie found the nerve - or rather, swallowed enough of her dread - to grab Dave's hand with both of hers and press it against her abdomen.

At first, there was nothing, and for a moment, Mickie was certain that she was going to have to say it; that she would need to open her mouth and physically utter the words. But then, all at once, _she felt it_ - that faint fluttering sensation within her - and _knew_, from the way Dave tensed, from the way he sucked in his breath sharply through his teeth, that he had felt it, too.

The vampire's voice, when he finally spoke, was soft, hesitant: "That's-"

"_Yes_." Mickie's mouth was bone-dry; she could feel her heart throbbing in her throat.

She heard Dave take a deep breath; try again: "How-"

The scarred brunette shook her head. "I don't know," She twisted back around to face the big man, tears brimming in her eyes as she gazed at him. "But it's _yours_, Dave. I don't know how it's _possible_, but it's _your_ baby, and it's growing inside of me."

To this, Dave said nothing, and Mickie reached with both hands to touch his face, certain that rejection was imminent, certain that at any moment, he was going to abandon her just like everyone else had done. "I know...that _this_...isn't what you were expecting - but it's what's happened-"

Her words tumbled out faster and faster, her voice breaking with emotion. "-and even though I can't ask you to stay, I'm _begging _you to, because I can't lose you again; not when it took me so long to find you-"

The flow of words ceased as Dave pulled her close, sealing her mouth in an intense kiss. When they finally pulled apart, the vampire pressed his forehead against hers, his deep voice barely above a whisper. "Why would you think that I would ever leave you? I _love_ you, and I will _always_ protect you."

He paused, and Mickie felt his hand touch her abdomen once again. "_Both_ of you."

Dave kissed her forehead. "But you're right; we _can't_ stay here." He pulled back a little, gazing into her eyes. "So where do we go?"

* * *

"Are you two sure about this?"

Hacksaw looked from one to the other, the glowing embers of the fire casting shifting patterns of red and orange light onto his grizzled face. "No one on the surface knows about this place - not the police, nobody. They'll never find you down here-"

Mickie and Dave looked at each other, both shaking their heads. "We can't risk it," the vampire gradually replied. "Eventually, I'm going to have to go up to the surface to feed. They could be anywhere in the city - if one of them spots me, I could end up leading them right back down here." He paused, reaching over to take Mickie's hand. "To _Mickie_."

The homeless man grunted, his fingers closing protectively around his board. "If they do, I can handle them-"

Dave shook his head again. "Not _these_ people, Hack."

A look of sullen indignation passed across the old man's face. "I can take care of myself-

"But what about your family?" the vampire interjected quietly. Hacksaw's mouth immediately snapped shut; it was clear that he had not considered this possibility. The big man went on. "I _know_ _you_ can handle yourself, but these people...they don't care about innocent bystanders - and I don't want Serena, Evan, or Truth getting hurt because of me."

A long contemplative silence followed his statement. Finally, Hacksaw cleared his throat grudgingly. "You've got a point - and you're right; _this_ is no place to bring a newborn child into. But, Dave..."

The homeless man leaned forward, his countenance almost pleading. "It's a scary world up there, and it'll be winter soon - I can't, in good conscience, just let you go if all you're going to do is wander the streets." He looked from the vampire to the scarred brunette beside him. "_Tell me_...that you've got someplace to go to."

Dave opened his mouth, fully prepared to lie through his fangs, when Mickie surprised him by speaking. "Actually...there is."

The brunette straightened up a little, drawing in a deep breath. "I think...I know someone...who might be able to help us."

* * *

The knocking woke Cody from a restless sleep.

The dark-haired young man groaned, burying his head underneath his pillow. He'd been having trouble sleeping since Roucka had moved out - he still couldn't get used to the enormous expanse of the empty double bed - but tonight was proving to be the possible exception to that ceaseless cycle.

It had been a busy shift at the Viper's Pit, culminating in more than a few verbal lashings from Randy. Cody was beat, physically _and_ mentally, and right now, wanted nothing more than to sleep for the next two days.

Which was what he had been doing, until that goddamned knocking had woken him up-

Cody pressed the edges of the pillow against his ears, waiting for whoever was on the other side of the door to lose patience and leave. However, after about five minutes, it became apparent that, instead of diminishing, the knocking was growing louder and more insistent.

Letting out another exasperated groan, the dark-haired young man kicked off the covers, rolling out of bed and staggering through the darkened interior of his one-bedroom apartment toward the front door.

Up ahead, he could see a tiny dot of light - the security peephole allowing in illumination from the hallway. He pressed one hand against the door for support, yawning. "Who is it?" The young man yawned again, this one so wide that he heard his jaws crack. "This better not be about finding Jesus-"

"Cody?"

Cody froze, all fatigue evaporating with the sound of _that voice_. He fumbled with the security chain, his fingers feeling too big and clumsy for the task, finally succeeding in undoing it and throwing the door open.

As soon as he saw the figure standing outside his apartment, Cody felt his insides clench, as though someone had slammed a sledgehammer into his gut. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, Mickie looked washed-out, the white of her scars thrown into sharp relief - but she was _here_. She was _alive_.

The brunette started to say something else, but Cody barely heard her; he was too busy closing the distance between them, pulling Mickie to him in a desperate hug. "I thought you were dead..." the dark-haired young man murmured.

He heard someone clear their throat awkwardly, and Cody looked over, nearby jumping out of his skin when he saw Dave staring bemusedly at the two of them. The young man immediately released his grip on Mickie, blushing furiously and backing away. "I...I didn't mean...I mean-"

All at once, it hit him - the smell rising off of the two of them - and Cody bent down, gagging as involuntary sour bile climbed up his throat. "Ugh!" he managed to gasp out. "You smell like-"

"I know, I know," Mickie interrupted, her tone a mixture of impatience and apology. "It's a very long story." She glanced toward the open door of the apartment, then back at the dark-haired young man. "Can..._we_...come in?"

Cody looked from one to the other, curiosity and concern fighting for dominance on his youthful face. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he nodded.

"Sure..."

* * *

Randy was at his desk, sorting through the day's receipts, when he heard the front door open.

The Viper's Pit owner tensed, his blue eyes sliding up from his desktop to the shadowy interior beyond his office doorway. The bar was closed for the night, Cody and Ted had gone home, the lights were off - in short, there was no reason for _anyone_ to be patronizing the Viper's Pit at this hour.

Unless...

Without taking his eyes off the darkened entranceway, Randy reached under his desktop, his fingers resting lightly on the hilt of the holstered 9mm Velcroed inside the hollow beneath. "Who's there?"

There was no answer - not that he had been expecting one. The Viper's Pit owner silently counted to three, then swiftly ripped the weapon from its holster, aiming it at the open doorway - feeling not even the faintest flicker of surprise when he saw the unfamiliar female figure seemingly materialize out of nowhere, leaning seductively against the wooden frame.

For a single protracted heartbeat of time, neither one of them moved. Finally, the woman stirred, stretching her limbs languidly like a feline. Her voice was low and alluringly forceful, like steel wrapped in velvet. "Do you treat _all_ your visitors this way?"

Randy's inscrutable expression didn't change, nor did he lower the gun. "Only the ones I don't know." His azure irises shifted slightly, moving from her to the bar's dim interior. "Looks like those shitheads forgot to lock the door again." His tone was matter-of-fact, as though he was commenting to himself rather than her, and his gaze swung back to her. "What do you want?"

The woman laughed, a low husky purr, and even though it was too dark to make out her features clearly, Randy could still glimpse the luminescent flash of fangs in the gloom. "A man of action - I _like _that."

Straightening up, she sauntered toward him, her high heels clicking softly against the scratched wooden floor. She paused right in front of the desk, the warm golden halo of light cast by the table lamp illuminating the flawless planes of her beautiful face, her blond-streaked black hair. "You can call me..._Melina_."

Randy's features twitched, the corner of his mouth curling upward in a smirk. "That supposed to mean something to me?"

If Melina was at all offended by his display of ignorance, she didn't show it. Instead, she lowered herself gracefully into one of the rickety chairs opposite him, crossing one shapely leg daintily over the other. "You and I have never met...but I believe you helped my boys Miz and Morrison out a few weeks ago."

Randy's sneer evaporated, irritation taking its place. "Oh. _Those two_." He leaned back in his, his eyes never leaving Melina, the barrel of the gun still aimed at the female vampire. "So...now that we've established who _you_ are...what do you want from _me_?"

Melina arched her back slightly, thrusting her ample chest out even more, cocking her head to the side almost thoughtfully as she spoke. "The three of us - my boys and I - we've been..._looking_...for someone-"

The Viper's Pit owner chuckled; a soft scornful sound. "Let me guess...you're looking for a big whiny bloodsucker named Dave and a damaged little junkie bitch named Mickie."

Melina froze, astonishment briefly flitting across her coquettish countenance. She recovered quickly, however, leaning forward a little. "Oh, you _are_ good_._" she remarked. Despite the casualness of her tone, however, Randy could detect suspicion...and more than a little eagerness.

The blue-eyed man finally lowered the gun, setting it down on the desk within easy reach. Picking up a scrap of paper and a pencil, he scribbled something down, folded the paper in half, and slid it across the desk toward the female vampire.

Melina snatched it up, her manicured fingernails nearly shredding the paper in her impatience to read what was written. She unfolded it, her dark eyes scanning quickly across its contents. Randy crossed his tattooed arms over his chest, watching silently as her excitement slowly morphed into confusion.

The female vampire looked up, the bewilderment in her eyes almost comical. "I don't...understand - this is a _number_-"

"How very astute of you," the Viper's Pit owner drawled sardonically.

Melina's dark eyes narrowed, the first flickers of anger beginning to emerge on her expression. "So..." she retorted bitingly. "What does it _mean_?"

"It _means_," Randy shot back with an equal amount of acrimony. "that _that_ is what it's going to _cost_ you...if you want my help."

Melina stood so fast that the blur of motion was undetectable, knocking the chair over. Grabbing hold of the desk, she shoved it aside; the piece of furniture skidded across the room, slamming into the opposite wall, receipts and papers flying everywhere.

Randy never flinched, not even when the desk crashed into the wall hard enough to make the room shake. He merely stared unblinkingly at the furious female vampire now looming above him, eyes glowing, slender fingers curved into talons. Her voice, so enchanting a second ago, was now a shrill piercing shriek. "You _human_ piece of - you _dare_ to ask _me_ for _money_ when you didn't make my boys pay a _thing_-"

"Yeah, well," the Viper's Pit owner interjected sharply. "That was _before _they botched a simple errand, trashed a perfectly good rental property, _and_ attracted the attention of _John Cena_ and his team."

As soon as he uttered the Hunter's name, Randy thought he saw Melina's complexion whiten a shade or two. The female vampire stepped back, the rage leaking out of her like air from a punctured balloon. "_Cena_?"

Randy's mouth twisted in a humorless grin. "_That_ got your attention, didn't it, princess? I take it you two have met before." The Viper's Pit owner tilted his head back, regarding her. "I'm surprised you didn't know he was even in town - either he's better than I thought, or you're getting senile in your old age."

For just an instant, he saw Melina's fury reemerge, like a dark flower blooming, but just as quickly, the female vampire reined it in, forcing her countenance back into its original configuration of flirtatious calm. "You know...you and I seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot."

She strolled toward him, her movements liquid, the sway of her hips a hypnotic seductive motion. "There's no need for us to fight with one another." Swinging one leg over, she straddled his lap, pressing both hands against his chest as she leaned into him. Her mouth hovered over his, her voice dropping to a low inviting whisper: "I'm sure we can negotiate some..._other_...form of payment..."

For a moment, Randy merely stared at her, then, slowly, lifted one hand up to touch her face; his fingers caressing her cheek, her jaw. Melina smiled, leaning in to kiss him - and then gasped, her dark eyes bulging in surprise as Randy's fingers clamped hard around her throat.

With one single brutal motion, the Viper's Pit owner shoved her back and off him, knocking her onto the floor. The female vampire landed on her ass, bouncing once or twice, her mouth dropping open in disbelieving shock as she stared back at Randy.

The blue-eyed man eyed her dismissively. "Sorry...but I'm not into fang-banging."

"You..._little_..." Melina's voice was a spiteful hiss, her dark eyes narrowing to tiny slits. "I could _make _you talk."

Randy shrugged. "I doubt it."

"I could _kill_ you," the female vampire shot back, a threatening note creeping into her tone.

To this, the Viper's Pit owner merely leaned forward, his azure irises boring silently into hers, and Melina realized for the first time that Miz and Morrison hadn't been exaggerating; this guy really _was_ spooky.

His mouth moved, forming only three words, the sound of them both toneless and ominous at the same time: "_You'd regret it_."

A long tense silence fell over the room. Eventually, Randy leaned back, his body language relaxing slightly. "You see, I'm a practical guy, who's good at what he does. But I've also got my own agenda to worry about - and if helping you on your little 'hell hath no fury' vendetta is going to fuck with that, then I am _damn_ _sure _going to be well-paid for it."

Melina said nothing at first; only stared back at the Viper's Pit owner with a sort of bemused detachment. "You're an interesting man, Randy," she remarked after a long moment had elapsed. "Have you ever considered crossing over to the _other_ side?"

The blue-eyed man shrugged again. "Once or twice."

"And?" Melina pressed on. "What stopped you?"

To this, Randy only smirked, another soft chuckle burbling up out of him. He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "I want the money, in full, in _cash_ - otherwise, no deal. If you can't agree to that..." The Viper's Pit owner pointed at the open doorway. "_There's_ the door; don't let it hit you on the ass on the way out."

A second crawled by. Then two. Then ten. Finally, Melina bobbed her head up and down in a begrudging nod, extending one slim manicured hand. "All right...you've got yourself a deal."

Randy accepted her hand, simultaneously shaking it and pulling her to her feet. The female vampire wobbled a little on her spike heels, smoothing down her clothing. Randy released her hand, folding his arms over his chest again. "Come back when you've got the money. Bring your lapdogs if you feel like it. We'll talk then."

It was both a statement and a dismissal - the Viper's Pit owner wasn't one for farewells. Melina must have sensed this, because she snapped her mouth closed, tilting her chin up haughtily, and whirling around on her heel, stalked out the doorway.

Randy waited until he heard the front door close - "close" was the wrong word; Melina slammed the door shut behind her hard enough to rattle the panes of glass in the frames - before rising from his chair. He walked over to the desk, grabbing hold of it and dragging it back to its original position. Once that was done, he knelt down, scooping up the various papers and receipts that had been scattered in the wake of Melina's wrath. He returned them to the desktop, sorting them into separate piles before sinking back down into his chair again.

Then, and only then, did the Viper's Pit owner allow himself to smile.

She didn't like him - not that Randy was surprised; most vamps didn't - but she would be back, most likely with her two suckboys in tow. Melina wasn't the oldest vamp he had ever met, but she was definitely up there - a couple centuries, _at least_. So why, pray tell, was a creature with so much experience, so much cunning, so much _power_, risking exposure by pursuing this petty revenge of hers?

Randy knew the reason; had known it the second Melina had thrown the desk at the wall - and that reason was that vampires, despite all their protests to the contrary, were just as emotionally vulnerable as their human prey.

The blue-eyed man shrugged. He didn't care. He had _never_ cared about _anything_ - and that was the one thing that had allowed him to survive. Vampires and Hunters, each convinced of their own beliefs and superstitions, tearing each other to pieces as they fought their useless petty war - but in the end, when the ashes had blown away and the blood had been washed from the streets, _he _was always the one left standing.

Because he believed in nothing...and because _nothingness_ was the only constant in this existence.

Randy smirked. Picking up the 9mm, he aimed it at an imaginary target in front of him, mouthing "BANG" as he pretended to fire off a round. Let them tear each other apart - Dave and Melina and the Hunters. Let them burn the city to the ground.

Either way, he would emerge from the wreckage, as he had so many times before, and he would _endure_, as evil will _always_ endure.

And once he had made his way though the bodies of the casualties of war...he would have his revenge.


	29. Chapter 29: Stand By You

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I need to apologize for two things. One, the length - this chapter is rather short. Two, that after that wonderful steaming jambalaya of evil that was Randy and Melina in the last chapter, neither one of them are in this one. I know, I know, I miss them already, too. But don't worry, both of them will be showing up again VERY soon. If it makes any difference, writing this chapter was like pulling teeth for me - I didn't want to, but knew that I needed to. EITHER WAY, ENJOY! PEACE!**

**Thank you to **Shandy777, Esha Napoleon, nikki1335, Nastygrl25, Animal Luvr 4 Life, AprilGilbert1996, DannyBoo511, **and **Girl on Fire** for reviewing the last chapter! You know, by now, that I love you ALL! *hugs* PEACE!**

* * *

Chapter 28: Stand By You

"_I will promise to stand by you/Until this ends..." - TRUSTcompany, "Breaking Down"_

Cody sagged back against the couch, shaking his head in disbelief. In his boxer shorts and faded TMNT t-shirt, with his dark hair sticking out in all directions, he looked like an abnormally large five-year-old. "I...I'm just trying to wrap my head around all this," he stammered. "I mean...I know that Randy deals with vamps, and I've heard stories about Hunters, but _this_ - this is _unreal_-"

"I know," Mickie interjected quietly. The scarred brunette sat next to Cody on the sofa, legs tucked up underneath her, her damp hair tumbling down her back in dark waves. Both she and Dave had showered, washing away the sewer dirt and stench, and Cody had given her a pair of yoga pants and a tank top that his ex-girlfriend had left behind to change into.

Mickie reached out, gently touching the young man's arm. "Sorry, I know...that this is a _lot_ to show up out of nowhere and dump on you - but I honestly didn't know where else to go." She glanced down at her lap before continuing. "I'm not going to lie to you, though - things are probably going to get pretty hairy, and I know that our being here puts you in an awkward position, so if you don't think that you can lie for us-"

"Mick..." Cody interjected quietly. He put his hand over hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze, his habitual awkwardness absent for once. "It's cool, all right? Don't worry about me. Both of you-" He looked from Mickie over to Dave, who was leaning against the far wall, arms folded over his massive chest, watching them silently. "-you can stay here as long as you need to."

At this, Mickie lifted her gaze, flashing the young man a small grateful smile. Cody returned it, the gawkiness and affability in his grin making him appear almost puppy-like. The young man ducked his head, blushing, clearing his throat as he rose to his feet. "I don't know about you - but after what I just heard, I could really use a stiff drink." Rubbing his eyes sleepily, he stumbled off in the direction of the small kitchen.

_Can we trust him?_

Mickie jumped as Dave's voice reverberated in her head. She looked over at her vampire lover, and was about to open her mouth to reply when she realized that Dave's lips hadn't moved. The scarred brunette stared at him for a second or two, mentally projecting her reply: _I think so_...

Dave's mouth curved upward in a sardonic grin, and he pushed his body off the wall, crossing the room and sinking down next to Mickie on the couch. He wrapped his arm around Mickie's shoulders, pulling her against him. _That's not very reassuring..._

Mickie snuggled closer to the vampire, resting her head on his chest. _I don't know how to explain it...it's something I feel, you know? Cody...he's the only one who's ever TRIED - tried to be nice to me, tried to treat me like something more than just a THING. He might seem like a coward...but he's not...not deep down where it counts..._

The brunette's eyelids drifted half-closed, her brown irises focusing on an unseen point in space. _Cody's stronger than he looks...one day, he'll realize that..._

* * *

Mickie awoke to the worst pain she'd ever experienced in her life.

She didn't know how to describe it - there was no real parallel to this type of agony - but the best comparison she could summon up was that there was a rabid animal trapped inside her, trying to chew its way out.

Her first frenzied thought was _The baby...oh my God, something's wrong with the baby..._ - but as the indescribable discomfort pulled her from sleep into full wakefulness, she soon realized that the sensation plaguing her wasn't the pain of a miscarriage...but the pang of _hunger_.

A hunger that she was all too familiar with.

It was the reason she had started shooting heroin; the reason she had allowed herself to drift through life in a drug-induced haze - because when she was high, there was only the cresting euphoria and the plummeting crash; there was no room for a hungry inner voice urging her to _feed_, to _kill_.

But now she was clean, and the voice was back - that hunger which the heroin had mercifully managed to drown out - and it was getting louder. She had felt it at the clinic; a lingering sensation that tinged the edges of her waking hours - but never this strong, never this _savage_.

Never this..._insistent_.

The pain came again, more intense this time, and it took everything the brunette had to bite the inside of her cheek and not cry out. Shoving back the covers, she rolled out of bed, staggering toward the door.

Mickie braced herself against the doorframe for support, her legs feeling weak and insubstantial. Everything was hard, sharp, and clear, shimmering with its own pulse of energy, and over it, she could hear a ceaseless throbbing sound, like the endless beat of a drum. She was hot and cold at the same time - she could feel perspiration beading on her forehead, but yet she was shaking so badly that her teeth were practically chattering.

The agony knifed through her again, doubling her over, and this time, Mickie couldn't prevent a strangled whimper from escaping her throat. She stumbled forward, not really knowing _why_, only that she _had to_. There was no way to accurately articulate the urge - it was like a siren song; a primal call that her rationality could not grasp, but her body had no choice but to respond to.

She moved out into the living room, the near-pitch darkness not phasing her in the least. Off to the side, huddled on the sofa, she could see the sleeping form of Cody - he had been gracious enough to offer her and Dave the bed. Mickie stepped toward him, as irresistibly drawn to him as a metal rod is to a magnet.

Cody was on his stomach, hugging his pillow against his cheek, a thin stream of drool oozing from his open mouth as he slept. As Mickie drew nearer, the throbbing sound grew louder - and in the back of her mind, she gradually comprehended that it was his _heartbeat_; the unending reverberation the sound of the blood pulsing through his veins. For one single insane second, she could almost _see_ it, too; could almost glimpse the network of vessels and arteries laced through his body.

Mickie's tongue darted out, moving across her dry lips - and all at once, the voice, the _hunger_, surged upwards in her, _urging_ her to _do it_, coaxing her to tear out his throat and lap up the blood that spilled. It would be _so easy_-

The brunette reached out, her fingertips grazing the young man's cheek. At her touch, Cody's eyes fluttered open, blearily focusing on her in the darkness. "Mickie?"

The sound of his voice, tentative and bewildered, uttering the two syllables of her name, was like an aural slap to the face. Mickie jerked back, the hunger evaporating and absolute horror taking its place. She could hear her common sense, her humanity, shrill and screaming, drowning out everything else: _Oh, God, what am I doing? WHAT AM I DOING-_

Cody pushed himself up, reaching for her, but Mickie was already pulling away, half-running, half-crawling toward the bathroom. She collapsed against the toilet, dry-heaving into the bowl, hearing the faint _splash_ of her own bile and spit hitting the water. Eventually, the spasms ceased and she sagged onto the floor, the cool tile soothing the fire on her skin...but not the raging hunger burning inside her.

Cody was in the doorway, switching on the overhead light, rubbing his eyes as he struggled to make sense of everything that was happened. "What's-" he began, but that was all he got out before Dave appeared, shouldering bodily past him and kneeling down next to Mickie.

The vampire lifted her up, cradling her gently in his arms. Mickie was barely conscious, her head lolling back, her skin gray and ashy. Her eyelids were open a sliver; only white was visible beneath. Her lips moved, uttering words in a dry cracked whisper, and even with his enhanced hearing, the vampire had to lean in to hear what she was saying: "So...so..._hungry_..."

Cody, meanwhile, was observing the tableau with something akin to panic. "What...what's _wrong_ with her?"

"She's hungry," Dave answered tersely. He carefully propped Mickie up against the shower stall, supporting her with one arm.

The young man looked toward the kitchen. "Hang on; I'll get her something-"

"Trust me - you don't have what she needs," the big man interrupted brusquely, and before Cody could ask what he meant by _that_, Dave pressed his lips to the skin of his inner wrist, sinking his fangs into a vein and tearing it open.

Instantly, blood bubbled up, filling his mouth with its sharp coppery tang. Dave pulled back, holding his wounded wrist in front of Mickie's mouth. Behind him, he heard Cody take a step back, sucking in a sharp breath, but Dave didn't turn around; all of his focus remained on the scarred brunette cradled against his arm. "Come on," he whispered gently. "Drink."

Blood streamed down his arm, dripping onto Mickie's neck and chest - but instead of pressing her mouth to the jagged wound, the brunette turned her head away, moaning. "I can't...I _can't_-"

"Mickie," Dave's voice was low and patient, despite the strain cracking the edges of it. "For _once,_ would you just _do_ what I tell you?" He thrust his bleeding wrist at her again. "_Drink_."

Mickie's brown eyes flew open; in spite of the pallor of her skin and the sweat trickling down her forehead, they were surprisingly large and calm. Without tearing her gaze from Dave, she took hold of his wrist, pulling it to her.

Her lips closed over the wound, and the big man let out a gasp as he felt her sucking his blood. It was a sensation that only vampires really understand - a deeply intimate feeling; the sense that your partner was pulling some part of you into themselves. Dave wasn't sure how much time went by - time during these moments was meaningless - but eventually, Mickie's eyelids drifted closed, and she released her hold on his wrist, sagging back against the shower stall, a soft satisfied sigh emanating from her throat. A drop of blood hovered at the corner of her mouth; with his thumb, Dave carefully wiped it away.

Still supporting Mickie with one arm, the vampire examined his wrist; the wound was already beginning to close up and fade away. He turned back toward Cody, almost intrigued to see the expression that would no doubt be on his face - and realized with a start that the young man was nowhere to found.

Dave glanced back at the sleeping Mickie, a wry smile briefly appearing on his face. "You know," he remarked. "I'm starting to have doubts about this guy." No answer greeted him, however, and sighing, the vampire gathered the brunette into his arms, lifting her up and carrying her back toward the bedroom.

* * *

Dave sat by Mickie's bedside, watching the slight rise and fall of her chest as she slept. The brunette's expression was peaceful in sleep, her scarred features slack and free of worry - but even as he gazed at it, the vampire couldn't shake the memory of how she had looked in the bathroom; the panic and resistance in her expression battling with sheer animal need as he pressed his bleeding wrist to her lips-

_I can't...I can't..._

Dave didn't understand her opposition - but then again, for him, vampirism had been a _choice_. It hadn't been something forced on him against his will; a painful agonizing transformation to be dragged out over the course of three years. For Mickie, _any_ concession to the darkness gradually consuming her - no matter how necessary or what the reason - _had_ to feel like a defeat.

For not the first time, the vampire found himself wondering if his attempt to help had done more harm than good - that by allowing Mickie to consume his blood, he had sped up the transformation process, or caused some physiological effect to the baby that neither one of them was aware of. But as much as it pained him, Dave knew that he couldn't afford to dwell on his doubts and misgivings. He had done what he had done out of _love_; he couldn't take it back, any more than he could erase the scars from Mickie's face. Whatever happened after this...would happen.

In a way, uncertainty was the one thing that was _certain_ about their relationship - even now, he had no idea how their story was going to end. All he knew was that, when the ending _did_ come...he would be there with her.

_Always_.

The sound of the front door opening jarred Dave from his reverie, and the vampire froze, rising to his feet. Moving swiftly and silently, he crept out of the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him and inching down the short narrow hallway toward the living room.

The main area of the apartment was almost totally black, but Dave's supernatural senses had no difficulty picking out the figure near the door. The vampire paused, tensing in preparation to fight, before reaching out and flicking on the overhead light switch.

Cody whirled around as the lights flew on, the paper bag sailing out of his arms and across the room. He jumped again when he saw the big man watching him wordlessly from the darkened corridor. "F-_fuck_!" the young man exclaimed when he had finally regained control of his voice. "You scared the _shit_ out of me-"

Instead of answering, Dave merely flicked his gaze from Cody to the closed front door. "You alone?" he asked flatly.

Cody was already kneeling down to retrieve the paper bag, his demeanor hovering somewhere between startled and irritated. "Of _course _I'm alone; who else would-" The young man paused as the full implication of the query dawned on him, and he sat back on his haunches, staring incredulously at the vampire. "Holy shit - you think that I went and told Randy about her, don't you?"

Dave shrugged. "The thought _did_ cross my mind." He started to add something else, but then stopped, noticing for the first time the contents of the paper bag, which had spilled out all over the living room floor when Cody had dropped it. The packets of blood were fresh, many of them still bearing the label of the blood bank they had originated from.

The vampire looked back at Cody, his features sagging in surprise. "How-"

The young man ducked his head, focusing on the plastic packets as he shoved them back into the paper bag. "Randy always keeps blood in the back fridge - you know, for his _meetings_. Ted and I both have keys to the Viper's Pit...so I just went in and...helped myself."

Cody hesitated, holding one of the packets in both hands, running his thumb over the smooth plastic. "I know it was risky - but it killed me...seeing her like that." He glanced up at Dave, the look in his eyes faintly miserable. "I just...I didn't want her to hurt anymore."

To this, Dave said nothing; there was nothing he _could _say. Cody averted his gaze again. "Before you showed up...I couldn't understand why no one else saw her the way I do. Ted thinks she's a _freak_; Randy just sees her as something he can use and throw away - but whenever _I _look at her-" He paused, looking up at Dave again. "I see what _used to be there_."

The young man sniffed, biting back tears of frustration. "I see what's _missing_ - not just what _they_ took from her, but what _Randy_ took from her - and it breaks my _heart_, because _I let it happen_!" Unconsciously, his hands gripped the blood packet, squeezing it. "I always _knew_...what he was doing to her...but for _three years_, I let him get away with it, because I was scared - scared of Randy, scared of losing my job, scared of standing up and doing the right thing for once."

Cody gulped down a breath. "And every day...I watched a little more of her disappear." He shook his head vehemently. "I can't let her go through that again; I just _can't_-"

"You love her, don't you?" Dave's quiet remark was both a statement and a question.

Cody glanced up, his mouth twisting in a rueful half-smile. "Is it really that obvious?" The vampire didn't answer, but instead walked over and kneeled down, scooping up the remainder of the spilled blood packets. He handed the bag back to Cody, who clutched it protectively to his chest with both hands. "I'll put it in the fridge. I don't know how long it'll last both of you - I only grabbed as much as I thought wouldn't be missed - but I can get more-"

"Cody," At the sound of his name, the young man looked up. Dave's dark eyes bore into his. "Be careful; this isn't a game."

Cody nodded emphatically. "I _know_ that...but I can't let her down again. I mean..." He glanced away for a second. "My girlfriend left me, it's getting to the point where I can't sleep at night - if I fail Mickie again this time...I won't be able to live with myself."

Silence followed his words. Clearing his throat awkwardly, Cody rose to his feet, trudging toward the kitchen. Just as he reached the doorway, Dave spoke again. "Oh, and Cody?" The young man looked back, but said nothing. The vampire struggled to find some measure of eloquence, but finally shrugged, settling on the simplest response: "Thanks."

At this, the young man smiled - a small, tentative smile, but a genuine one nevertheless. He disappeared into the kitchen, and Dave stood as well, turning and heading back toward the bedroom. Just as his hand gripped the doorknob, Cody's final statement echoed in his ears, the desperate earnestness in the young man's voice making the words seem strangely prophetic:

_If I fail Mickie again this time...I won't be able to live with myself..._


	30. Chapter 30: Between Angels and Insects

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! A longer one, to boot, and one I had MUCH more fun writing - I love writing villains. Anyways, I hope you like it. ENJOY! PEACE**

**I want to give a special shout-out to **Shandy777 **for giving me tons of encouragement via Twitter, as well as good story ideas, some of which I worked into this chapter. Thank you so much-I ALWAYS enjoy our conversations about Evil Randy! I also want to shout-out to **Nastygrl25, **for generally just being awesome and keeping me on track - if you're not already reading her work on FF, go and do so, NOW!**

**Thank you to **AprilGilbert1996, Shandy777, Girl on Fire, Nastygrl25, **and **Esha Napoleon **for reviewing the last chapter! I love you ALL! HUGS! PEACE!**

* * *

Chapter 29: Between Angels and Insects

"_It's strange what desire can make foolish people do..." - Three Days Grace, "Wicked Game"_

Dave stood at the open refrigerator door, staring almost accusingly at the one remaining blood pack sitting on the top shelf - even without eyes or a face, its singular presence nevertheless managed to mock him.

He and Mickie had been surviving off of the smuggled blood for almost a week now - although their consumption of it was somewhat one-sided; Dave had been giving most of it to her, drinking only what he needed to remain functional - and the scarred brunette had eventually come to accept her ingestion of the vital liquid as a necessity, drinking it without complaint.

But no matter how many times she drained the cup, no matter how many times her brown irises involuntarily lit up at the sight of the dark red liquid, the vampire couldn't help but feel that Mickie's consumption of blood was merely a placebo effect; one last feeble attempt to hide the fact...that her body was dying.

There was no denying that ever since that first night, the night she had drank his blood, Mickie had been growing weaker. She slept all the time now; she couldn't even make it to the bathroom without help. The only substance she could keep down without difficulty was blood, and she was losing weight at an alarming pace. And as she grew weaker...the baby inside her was growing stronger, as though it was absorbing all of her strength into its tiny form.

Dave wanted to be thankful, and part of him was - there was no mistaking the involuntary love and joy that welled up inside him every time he rested his hand on Mickie's swollen belly and felt the vigorous kicks within. But it was an emotion that always brought with it a bitter twinge of resentment, as he gazed at the scarred brunette's gaunt and wan face, and as much as he adored the baby, he hated it at the same time - because its very existence was killing the woman he loved.

The vampire despised himself for feeling this way, but it wasn't _fair_; the baby thriving at the expense of its mother. And more and more, Dave found himself wondering if, when that day finally came, he was going to have to _choose_ who to save - Mickie...or the child.

"I'm heading out."

Dave jumped a little at the sound of Cody's voice; the dark-haired young man had materialized beside him in the kitchen while he had been lost in thought. The vampire quickly slammed the refrigerator door closed - but not before Cody got a good look over his shoulder at its contents. "You're almost out, aren't you?"

Dave didn't answer; merely looked away, the tiny muscle near his jaw twitching as he clenched his teeth. The young man nodded resolutely. "Right. I'll pick up some more tonight-" He turned, heading toward the front door.

"Cody, wait-" The big man caught up with him as he reached the living room, grabbing his arm. Dave hesitated, faltering slightly over his words as he tried to determine how best to say them. "This...it's too dangerous - if Randy suspects even for a _second_ that you're hiding something, you could end up leading him right back here-"

The dark-haired young man shook his head. "He won't suspect _anything_. See?" He held up his other arm, waggling the small insulated cooler clenched in his hand. "I always bring my dinner in this and leave it in the back room - before I leave, I'll just fill it up with blood packets-"

Now it was Dave's turn to shake his head vigorously. "No; there _has_ to be another way-"

"Well, there _isn't_!" A note of uncharacteristic sharpness crept into Cody's voice, along with a hint of frustration. The strange thing was that, despite the implausible circumstances of their situation, the three of them - he, Mickie, and Cody - had been getting along fine; settling into a kind of dysfunctional normalcy. But now, for the first time, Dave could see strain cracking the facade of the young man's usually affable countenance, revealing traces of discontent...and maybe even a tiny bit of jealousy.

Cody went on, his words tumbling out in a caustic rush: "You think that you can hide the worst of it from me, but I can still see what's going on - she can't even keep _water_ down anymore!"

He stepped closer, boldly jamming his face into Dave's. "Maybe _you've_ already given up, but _I _haven't. I won't _let_ her die - not when I can do something to save her."

Just hearing the implied criticism - the insinuation that he didn't care; that he had already written Mickie off as dead - sent a hot spike of fury surging through Dave all the way down to the marrow. The vampire bristled angrily, his lips drawing back from his fangs. "Now you _listen_-"

"Dave? What's...going on?"

Both men froze at the thready rasp of Mickie's voice, turning almost in unison toward its source. The brunette stood in the doorway - or rather, sagged against the doorframe, clutching it with both hands for support. She looked like a corpse - her skin was gray, pulled tight against the bones of her face; her brown irises were dull; even her hair had lost its luster, hanging limply down her back.

And then, almost as though to belie any initial diagnosis of impeding death, there was her pregnant belly, jutting out in front of her in a large unmistakable curve. In sharp contrast to the rest of her, the skin stretched across this perfect orb was healthy and full of color, as though the child in her womb was the one who was truly alive.

Dave immediately closed the distance between them, pulling Mickie carefully into his embrace. "Nothing," he lied, his voice dropping to a low reassuring murmur. "Come on, let me take you back to bed - you shouldn't be up."

The scarred brunette didn't protest; only sagged against her vampire lover like dead weight. Dave's arms tightened around her protectively, and he glanced back over his shoulder at Cody. His lips didn't move - but nevertheless, the young man heard his voice loud and clear in his head.

_Fine; just...be careful, all right?_

Cody nodded, bowing his head as the bedroom door closed, shielding the couple from his view. "I will," the young man whispered.

"I _promise_."

* * *

"Yo, Cody!"

Cody flinched, the sound of his name jarring him from the mental fog engulfing his brain. He glanced over at his fellow bartender, shrugging sheepishly. "Sorry, man, I guess I wasn't listening."

Ted grinned. "Yeah, no kidding - you've been a fuckin' space cadet for the last _week_." The blond-haired young man shook his head, still smiling. "Don't tell me you're still hung up over Rou - I _told_ you, bro; you're better off without her."

At the mention of his ex-girlfriend, the dark-haired young man grimaced. "Yeah, well..." He looked around the main area of the Viper's Pit, his voice trailing off distractedly. It had been a slow night, with a few spates of patronage to keep the two bartenders busy, but now, at just after midnight, the bar was deserted. Cody's gaze slid over the various tables and chairs, settling on the swinging double doors of the back room. "Hey..." he ventured. "Do you mind covering for me for a couple minutes? I gotta take a leak."

Ted's smile faded a little in disgust. "Didn't need to know that part - but yeah, sure, no problem."

"Thanks," Tossing down his hand towel, Cody headed toward the back room, sidling through the double-hinged doors. Once he was back there, however, instead of heading for the employee bathroom, the dark-haired young man made a beeline for the black mini-fridge tucked away in the corner - the repository for the packets of blood.

He was just about to kneel down when he heard the front door of the Viper's Pit open. Cody froze, frowning. There was nothing unusual about the sound - he had heard it a couple million times in his five years of employment at the bar - but yet for some reason, the skin all over his body was prickling up into goosebumps, an indescribable feeling of dread tamping down over his senses.

It was as though...the primal reptilian part of his brain had picked up on something; some imminent danger that his conscious mind was not even aware of. And as much as he wanted to dismiss the sensation as nothing more than good old-fashioned paranoia - after what he had witnessed in his own apartment over the past week, Cody knew that when his instincts were screaming like that, the wisest course of action would be to _obey them_.

The dark-haired young man turned, moving quietly to the door, peering around the edge of one of the round porthole windows. Almost immediately, he felt his chest constrict, his heart leaping upward and lodging in his throat, at the sight of the three figures standing in front of the bar.

He didn't recognize the one in the center - a diminutive female, clad in a black leather catsuit, the enormous fur-lined hood of her short jacket pulled over her head and obscuring her face - but he had no trouble recollecting the other two. They were the same two vampires that had come in here a few weeks ago looking for Dave; the same two Randy had sent to Mickie's apartment the night she had disappeared and left behind a pool of blood.

And in the back of his mind, Cody remembered something the big man had once said; the only explanation he had ever really given regarding the vampire "family" he had left behind: _Miz and Morrison...they're like guard dogs - they'll tear you apart, but they'll always do what they're told..._

_ Melina, though...she's the one you REALLY need to watch out for..._

Through the haze of shock surrounding him, Cody heard Randy's office door open, followed by the creak of footsteps against the wooden floor, and finally, his boss's voice: "I was wondering when you'd be back. Head on upstairs; there's a room up there where we can talk."

A pause, then, softer: "Ted, lock the door and flip the sign around, then heat up some packets of O for our _guests_." Another pause. "Make sure you use the _good_ glasses when you serve it."

Cody waited until Randy's footsteps died away before tentatively reaching for the door - the edge of it almost smacking him square in the face as Ted pushed it from the other side. The dark-haired young man jumped back instinctively; his coworker laughed. "Whoa! Sorry about that, bro! Thank God for your cat-like reflexes, huh?"

Ted stopped, his humor dissipated as he peered closer at his fellow bartender's face. "Are you okay, man? You look like you've seen a ghost-"

Cody quickly shook his head. "I'm fine," he cut in, his hurried tone implying exactly the opposite. He nodded past Ted in the direction of the stairs. "What...what did they want?"

The blond-haired young man glanced back in the indicated direction. "Who? Them? I dunno - couple of vamps doing business with the boss man, I guess." Ted leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial level. "Did you see the _girl_, though? Oh, man, fuckin' _smoking_ - what I wouldn't give to nail _that_-"

"You know what?" Cody could barely hear his voice over the pounding of his heart; he could only pray that it sounded normal. "Go on back out to the bar - _I'll_ take care of serving them."

Ted frowned. "Really? I thought you had to take a piss. Besides...I thought vamps always weirded you out-"

"Forget about that - I'll be fine." The words came out faster and sharper than Cody had intended, and he quickly forced a smile onto his face. It hurt, and he hoped that it looked less painful than it felt. "Besides, it's not any worse than dealing with the boss every day."

At this, his coworker burst out laughing. "Hey, you're right about that!" Ted said something else, but Cody didn't hear him; panic had overtaken him, stretching his mind in a million different directions.

He didn't know what business those three particular vamps had with his morally ambiguous boss...but it _couldn't_ be good.

* * *

Randy sat down at the table, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest, pushing the chair back and tipping it up on its back two feet. Across from him, Melina pushed back her fur-lined hood, shrugging off the jacket and daintily fluffing out her blond-and-black hair. "So..._Randy..._" the female vampire purred. She leaned against the chair, arching her back slightly as she eyed the Viper's Pit owner. "Miss me?"

Randy's expression didn't change. "Do you have it or not?"

Melina's smirk drooped a touch. "All business, as _always_." she snapped coldly. Lifting one manicured hand, she waved it nonchalantly. Behind her, Miz scowled, stepping forward and setting a leather briefcase on the table, sliding it toward the blue-eyed man. Unsnapping the clasps, Randy flipped it open, staring for a second at the bundles of hundred-dollar bills neatly arranged within, before pulling them out one by one, carefully thumbing through them.

Melina watched him, her expression bemused. "Don't worry; it's all there," she remarked. The Viper's Pit owner ignored her, continuing his methodical examination. The female vampire's dark eyes narrowed slightly. "You don't trust me, do you?"

"I don't trust _anyone_," Randy retorted. His icy azure irises shifted upward, settling on her. "I find I live longer that way." His inspection of the money concluded, he closed the briefcase and set it on the floor under his chair, folding his hands together on top of the table as he stared at the female vampire.

"So..." the Viper's Pit owner spoke after an indeterminable amount of time had crept by. "I suppose, now that I've been paid, I ought to tell you where _she_ is-"

"_She_?" Melina's smile vanished, and she slammed her palms on the tabletop, her fingernails digging into the wood. "That money was for you to tell me where _both_ of them are!"

"No, _that money_ was my fee for helping you in the first place!" Randy retorted flatly. "And now I have it, so you'd better take what you can get-"

"This is _bullshit_, Mel!" Miz interjected wildly. The mohawked vampire tore off his black fedora, crushing the felt hat in his hand. He glared over at the Viper's Pit owner. "This guy's a waste of our time - we'd be better off finding them ourselves-"

"_Right_," Randy drawled sarcastically, his handsome face showing absolutely no intimidation. "Because that was going _so well_ for you _before_ you decided to ask for my help!"

Miz's face flushed bright red with rage and embarrassment, and for a moment, he looked as though he was on the verge of throwing the table across the room. "You _fucking_-" the mohawked vampire snarled.

"_Miz_!" The sharpness of Melina's voice was like the brief sting of a pinprick, puncturing the balloon of emotion and tension that had filled the room. Miz immediately snapped his mouth shut and slunk back to his original position, hanging his head sullenly.

Melina's dark irises, however, never wavered from Randy's blue ones. "Don't mind _him_; he has a tendency to speak before he _thinks_." The last word was punctuated with a meaningful glare over her shoulder, before the female vampire turned her attention back to the Viper's Pit owner. "So, then..._where is she_?"

The blue-eyed man didn't move. "Not so fast - I've got an additional stipulation of my own."

Melina blew air impatiently out through her full lips. "You've already been _paid_ - what _more_ could you _possibly _want?"

"Just one thing," Randy leaned forward, his azure irises unblinking. "When you go after Mickie, I want you to bring her to me...and I want her _alive_."

The female vampire sneered. "Not possible." To this, the Viper's Pit owner merely raised his eyebrows questioningly, and she added: "You have to understand; it's the _principle_ of the thing. That cunt _took_ something from me-"

"So she did," Randy interjected quietly, his tone thoughtful, almost distracted. "Seems to me - and correct me if I'm wrong - that what she _took_ from you...you're better off without." His gaze slid upward, focusing momentarily on the twin hovering forms of Miz and Morrison. "Not that your current entourage is exactly an _upgrade_."

Both vampires immediately brindled at the implied insult. "Hey!" Miz blurted, apparently forgetting his recent admonishment. "You didn't see what he _did_ to her!" He placed one hand protectively on Melina's shoulder, which the female vampire patted affectionately before gingerly pushing away. The mohawked vampire continued. "Dave...he almost _killed_ her! If Mor and I hadn't come home when we did, Mel could have _died_-"

"How unfortunate," Randy remarked mildly. "Good thing, then, that the two of you are such _loyal pets_." His gaze, however, never left Melina's. "I didn't know the big man had it in him."

Melina didn't flinch. "It's the _truth_."

"Of _course_ it is," the Viper's Pit owner replied with only the faintest hint of sarcasm. "But let me give you some food for thought, princess." The blue-eyed man leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a low toneless whisper. "Right now, you've got no clue _where_ Dave is - if you _did_, you wouldn't be here, asking for my help. But at the same time, you also have the one _thing_, the one _person_, who could lure him back out into the open."

A smirk touched the corners of Randy's mouth. "So go ahead; kill the bitch - in the long run, I don't give a flying _fuck_ whether Mickie lives or dies. But if you do, _trust_ me when I say that you will _lose_ _any_ chance you might have had of finding that big dumb animal of yours."

For a long tense moment, no one said anything...then an awkward cough from the doorway broke through the stillness. Randy didn't turn around; merely leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening. "Coddles, Coddles...didn't your mother ever teach you that it's not polite to _stare_?" He motioned impatiently with one arm. "Come on - our guests won't _bite_."

Cody swallowed hard, and tentatively made his way into the room, clutching his serving tray with both hands. As he reached the table, he stepped on his shoelace and almost tripped, the glasses on the tray wobbling slightly. Morrison and Miz snickered wickedly; Randy only rolled his eyes.

The dark-haired young man gulped again, and without making eye contact, set the assortment of beverages on the wooden tabletop - a bottle of water for the Viper's Pit owner, three wine glasses of dark red blood for the trio of vampires. Just as he was drawing his arm back, the female vampire's hand suddenly shot out, her slender fingers latching around his wrist with surprisingly strength.

Cody let out a startled cry, all the color draining from his face. Melina cocked her head to the side, studying the dark-haired young man, looking for all the world like a snake eyeing a nice plump rat. "_You_...what's your name?" Her voice was like honey; oozing and tantalizingly sweet.

Cody gulped, the muscles in his throat jumping as he struggled to speak. "C-Cody-"

"_Cody_," the female vampire reiterated, enunciating the syllables slowly. She lifted her other hand, crooking her index finger in a beckoning motion. Cody obligingly leaned in. "Tell me, _Cody_...do _you_ know where Mickie is?"

Now Randy turned, staring at his employee with what could have almost been interest. The dark-haired young man turned red, then white again, his eyes focusing everywhere but on the beautiful _dangerous_ woman in front of him. "No, I-" He falter, licked his lips, tried again. "Why...why _would_ I?"

"Hmm...I don't know..." the female vampire purred. "Maybe because...I could _smell_ the fear on you as soon as you walked in. You _reek_ of it." She reached up, gently caressing Cody's cheek with her fingertips. "And the _worry_ - you seem to be _very_ concerned about what happens to her."

A hard note crept into her voice, like a ribbon of steel beneath the silk. "Is there something...that you're not telling us?"

Cody rapidly shook his head. "N-no! No way-" His voice died away as Melina pressed a finger against his lips, shushing him.

"_Look at me_," The dark-haired young man instantly obeyed, a frightened whimper escaping his throat as his eyes locked onto Melina's dark ones. The female vampire's tone became soft, coaxing. "Tell me...where she is."

She trailed her fingers down his cheek, his jaw, her nails tracing the line of his jugular. "_Tell me_-"

"That's _enough_!" Randy interrupted brusquely. Melina snapped her head toward him, breaking eye contact, and Cody immediately used the opportunity to wriggle free, tripping over his shoelace again, and this time falling on his ass. Miz and Morrison burst into loud guffaws of laughter; Melina merely arched one delicate eyebrow as she stared at Randy.

The Viper's Pit owner's expression was stony. "I'll thank you _not_ to molest my employees while you're here."

"What's wrong, _Randy_?" the female vampire retorted tauntingly. "_Jealous_?"

Instead of taking the bait, the blue-eyed man nodded in his employee's direction. "Go back to work, Cody." The dark-haired young man instantly obeyed, scrambling to his feet and practically sprinting out the door. As soon as he was gone, Randy shrugged. "Don't mind him; he's too _stupid_ to know anything." The Viper's Pit owner shook his head derisively. "Sentimental _idiot_ - always gets these big puppy-dog eyes whenever someone mentions Mickie."

His gaze shifted back toward Melina, as though remembering her presence. "Well...it seems that negotiations have broken down - and _since_ we can't seem to agree, we have _nothing more_ to talk about." Randy stood abruptly, his chair legs screeching on the scarred wood floor. "Now, if you'll excuse me..._I've_ got a bar to run."

"Wait!" Randy paused, staring wordlessly at Melina. The female vampire shot a glance up at her two cohorts. "Miz, Mor - could you be good boys and leave us alone for a few minutes?"

Neither one protested, but Randy noted with particular interest the way Miz's face flushed pink with indignation; the way he spat out: "Of course, _Mel_," through gritted teeth as though the words themselves had a nasty taste. The pair stalked out of the room, Morrison slamming the door behind him hard enough to shake the walls. Randy didn't flinch; merely kept his gaze on Melina. "Jealous little bastards, aren't they?" he remarked nonchalantly.

The female vampire shrugged; a subtle seductive gesture. "I prefer to think of them as..._protective_. _Speaking_ of which-" She pushed her chair back, rising to her feet. "I don't understand why you're so concerned about that _whore_. You don't love her, she means _nothing_ to you-"

The blue-eyed man shrugged. "Like you said - it's the _principle_ of the thing. Mickie belongs to _me_; _I'm_ the one she has to answer to for what she's done. After that..." The Viper's Pit owner paused for a second. "Do whatever you like."

"So then..." Melina sauntered around the table, her dark eyes still focused on Randy. "We seem to be at a standstill - _I _want to know where Mickie is; _you_ want her alive." She moved toward him, closing the distance between them, her boot heels clicking softly on the floor. "The way _I _see it..._I've_ already paid my fee - so if you want your little junkie bitch _alive_, _you're_ going to have to cough something up in return."

She stopped right in front of Randy, reaching up to run her hands slowly up his chest. Her voice dropped to a silken purr. "And unlike _you_..._my_ price isn't _money_."

Randy slapped her hands away. "I _told _you; I'm-"

"-not into vampires," Melina finished for him. "But tell me...would it _really_ be so bad?" Her full lips curved into a lascivious smirk, and she tugged at the zipper of her catsuit, unzipping it down far enough to reveal the full contours of her ample breasts. "I've been around a _long_ time; I can do things you've never _dreamed_ of-"

She moved closer to Randy, her half-exposed breasts pressing against his chest. She tilted her face up; their mouths were almost touching. "-and let's not kid ourselves, _Randy_ - you may not have a _heart_...but you've still got a _dick_."

The Viper's Pit owner's response was swift and sudden - dipping his head down, he captured Melina's mouth in an intense kiss. The female vampire moaned deep in her throat, clinging to him as she fiercely returned it.

Randy backed her up against the table, sweeping against the bottle and glasses with one careless swipe of his arm before lifting Melina up and onto it, wedging his body between her legs. Sealing her mouth in one more rough kiss, he yanked the zipper of her catsuit all the way down to her navel, abruptly shoving her down onto the tabletop.

Melina's head bounced against the wood, but the cry that escaped her lips was full of savage joy. Randy straightened up, fumbling at his fly with one hand...and that was when the female vampire drew her knees up to her torso, clamping her feet together and kicking him square in the chest with both legs.

The blow hit Randy right in the breastbone, knocking the wind out of him and sending him sailing across the room. In a flash, Melina was up, yanking her zipper back up as she closed the distance between them. The blue-eyed man was on his hands and knees, coughing; with one rapid straight kick, she nailed him in the side of the head, knocking him all the way down on his stomach.

Immediately, she pounced on him, pressing her knees into his shoulder blades. Grabbing one arm, she wrenched it up painfully behind his back; with the other, she pushed his head down against the floor. Melina bent down, until her lips grazed Randy's ear. "I don't like being disrespected," the female vampire whispered. "And I don't like being _rejected_ - _particularly_ by human scum like _you_. _No one_ does _either_ to me and gets away with it."

She could feel Randy struggling beneath her, but it was weak, useless; like the pathetic thrashing of a trapped fly before it is squashed between thumb and forefinger. "Now," Melina continued calmly. "You're going to tell me what I want to know - or _trust_ _me_ when I say that I will make your last few moments in this life _extremely_ unpleasant."

To punctuate her statement, she twisted Randy's arm even more, the movement evoking a sharp grunt of pain from the blue-eyed man. "_Tell me where she is_ - and _maybe.._I won't kill you, too."

A few moments ticked by incrementally; Melina could almost hear Randy's mental gears ticking as he weighed his options. Finally, the Viper's Pit owner drew in a sharp breath, his words emerging in a begrudging hiss: "There's this do-gooder called Bryan; runs a clinic near here - the LaBell Clinic." A pause. "You'll find her there."

Melina smiled, her grin one of feline satisfaction. "_Now_...was _that_ really _so hard_?" She bent down, pressing her lips against his cheek in a mocking kiss. "Hopefully, we can do business again - I _trust_ you'll be more..._respectful_...next time." With that, she released her grip and hopped off him, grabbing her jacket before striding out the door.

Randy waited until her footsteps had died away completely before pushing himself up to his knees. His arm was on fire, and he was certain that when he took off his shirt tonight, he was going to find the imprint of her boots stamped into his chest. But nevertheless, the Viper's Pit owner couldn't keep a triumphant smile off his face - just like he couldn't stop the harsh burble of laughter emerging up from deep within him...along with one final epithet:

"Stupid bitch."

He had underestimated her...but that was okay...because _she_ had underestimated _him_.

* * *

Ted looked uneasily from one vampire to the other, slowly wiping his wet rag along the scarred surface of the bar. The two of them looked to be about his age - although, they _were_ vamps, so it was hard to tell - and neither one looked particularly happy; the one in the fedora was practically pouting.

The blond-haired kid started to ask how things had gone, when he hear the faint crash from upstairs. All three of them rolled their eyes toward the ceiling, but no one said anything.

A few minutes later, there came the light clatter of heels on wood, and the female vampire came into view, pulling her jacket on. She looked toward her two cohorts at the bar, who immediately sprang to their feet, unlocking the door and holding it open for her. The female vampire flipped her blond-streaked hair back over her shoulder, flashed Ted a meaningful smile, and then vanished out into the night, the other two following close behind her.

As soon as the door swung closed, Ted heard a second set of footsteps, heavier this time, and looked up to see Randy coming down the stairs. The Viper's Pit owner was moving a little bit more gingerly than usual, and kept rotating his arm around in its socket, as though trying to work feeling back into it.

The blond-haired young man immediately tossed the rag down, his face creasing in concern. "You okay, boss?"

The look Randy shot him was so withering, Ted wondered why he'd even bothered asking in the first place. "I'm _fine_," the blue-eyed man snapped. "Make yourself useful: go upstairs and clean up the mess." He looked around, noting for the first time that Ted was alone. "Where's Cody?"

The blond-haired young man shrugged. "He came bolting down here and ducked in the back room; I haven't seen him since." He walked around the edge of the bar, heading toward the staircase. "I don't know what's up with him tonight - he's been really freaked out ever since those vamps showed up..."

Ted was already jogging up the steps, so he never saw his boss's gaze snap in the direction of the back room. Without speaking, the Viper's Pit raised his hands, cracking his knuckles one by one as he stared a hole through the set of double-hinged doors...

* * *

Cody grabbed packs of blood with both hands, shoving them frantically into the cooler. His encounter with Melina had left him shaken; even now, with a set of rooms separating them, his body wouldn't stop trembling.

Dave was right; the female vampire _was_ dangerous, and it was more than just the strength in her hand when she had grabbed his wrist, or the look in her eyes; like a carnivore sizing up a piece of meat. No...it had been that moment, that scant half-second of time, when she had been _inside his head_, as though she had just opened up his skull and stepped inside.

Cody didn't know how much she had seen or ascertained while she had been inside...but with both Mickie and Dave depending on him, he couldn't afford to take any more chances. Right now, he needed to grab as much blood as he could, and get the _hell_ out of there-

"Oh, Cody..." The dark-haired young man froze as Randy's cold voice floated up out of the empty space behind him. "As always...you never fail to disappoint me..."


	31. Chapter 31: Wicked Game

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I think this chapter pretty much speaks for itself, although I will say this - as I was writing it, I realized that THIS is what I work on to keep my screenplay from depressing me. With that irony in mind, ENJOY! PEACE!**

**Thank you to **Shandy777, Esha Napoleon, Nastygrl25, AprilGilbert1996, Girl on Fire, BigRedMachineUK, nikki1335, **and **XxxDarkCloudxxX **for reviewing the last chapter! LOVE, HUGS, AND PEACE!**

* * *

Chapter 30: Wicked Game

"_You see, I spy for a living/And I specialize in revenge/On taking the things I know will cause you pain..." - Pulp, "I Spy"_

"You know," the Viper's Pit owner continued as he pushed his body off the door frame, strolling leisurely toward his employee. "I actually thought that I was mistaken up there. Even after seeing the way she looked at you, the way you freaked out, as though there truly was _something_ inside that thick skull of yours that you didn't want her to see...I was still willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, because if there's one thing I've been able to count on over the years, it's your _loyalty_."

Randy paused, halting right beside Cody, his blue gaze as intensely probing as the beam of a searchlight. "But _then_, I come looking for you - only find you stuffing your lunchbox with the one beverage you've got no taste for..." The Viper's Pit owner shrugged, spreading his arms wide in a questioning gesture. "Well...you can see how I would jump to certain..._conclusions_."

The dark-haired young man slowly rose to his feet, swallowing hard as he met his boss's eyes. "This isn't...what it looks like-"

"Oh, _really_?" Randy interrupted sarcastically. "Then, _by all means_, tell me what it _is_, because it _looks_ like you're stealing from me - and _since_ I know that you're not smart enough to go into business for yourself, I can only think of _one other reason_ why you would need _that much blood_." The blue-eyed man stepped closer. "So...where is she?"

Cody said nothing; only stared back at his boss, his formerly frightened expression gradually transforming into something unreadable. Randy's azure eyes narrowed, his almost-smirk morphing into a snarl. With terrifying swiftness, he grabbed the bartender by the back of the neck, his fingers digging painfully into Cody's flesh. "Listen, _Cody_, I don't think you realize just how _fucked_ you are right now. Forget your _job_ - you'll be lucky to walk out of here on your own two feet unless you start talking."

The Viper's Pit owner jammed his face into his subordinate's, his deep voice dropping to a whisper. "_Where...is...she_?"

Cody's lips barely moved. "Fuck you."

Randy drew back a little, relaxing his grip slightly. "What?"

"I said _fuck you_!" As soon as the epithet passed between his lips, the dark-haired young man drew himself up to his full height, his whole body trembling with anger and determination as he stared fearlessly back at Randy.

For a moment, genuine astonishment flitted across the Viper's Pit owner's face, but in the next, it had closed down once more, resuming its embittered countenance. Without warning, he clenched his other hand into a fist, punching Cody full-force in the stomach.

The bartender doubled over, gagging and choking for breath. Randy regarded his discomfort without pity. "Wrong answer, _fuckwit_." he snapped. Sinking his fingers into Cody's neck once more, he forced the young man's head up. "Care to amend it?"

The dark-haired young man lifted his gaze, his eyes locking onto his boss's. Besides the glassiness of pain, there was a strange light in them; a sort of desperate courage that Randy thought he had wrung from the bartender years ago. "Yeah..." Cody whispered, his voice strained. The corner of his mouth curled upward in a smirk. "Go _fuck_ yourself."

Rage bloomed on Randy's face - absolute, pure, _actual_ - his features twitching as though the skin was about to split and finally reveal the demon lurking beneath. With a low wordless growl, he shoved Cody backward, into a set of metal shelves used for storage. Liquor bottles wobbled precariously as the bartender's skull and spine connected with an ugly _CLANG_, but the blue-eyed man wasn't finished - grabbing hold of the young man once more, he threw him face-first onto the floor.

The impact drove all the air out of Cody's body, and before he had the chance to even turn his head, Randy was on him, driving the rugged tread of his boot sole into the bartender's face, his neck, his torso. He kept up his vicious stomps and kicks, until Cody's breathing became labored, then liquid-filled.

Then, all at once, the Viper's Pit owner stopped. He crouched down beside Cody, cocking his head to the side as he stared dispassionately at his employee. His voice, when he finally did speak, was unemotional but deliberate, as though he was choosing his words carefully. "When I first took you on - you _and _Ted - what did I say my only two rules were?"

With effort, the dark-haired young man rolled over onto his side. His face was a mess - his nose was broken and bleeding, like a piece of smashed fruit; one eye was already swollen shut. He coughed, a wet hacking sound, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the wooden floor. "Never...talk about...what happens here-"

"And the other?" Randy pressed relentlessly.

This time, Cody met his gaze, involuntary tears leaking from his uninjured eye. "Never question...your decisions..._ever_."

"Very good." The Viper's Pit owner mockingly patted his subordinate's cheek. "So tell me...why are you breaking _both_ of them by choosing to help that _whore_?"

Cody's eyes slid away. "I don't expect _you_ to understand."

Comprehension registered faintly on Randy's face. "Oh...I _see_," the blue-eyed man replied after a long pause. "How _noble_ of you. But the thing is, Cody - nobility's overrated."

The Viper's Pit owner leaned in, grabbing Cody's chin and forcing his head up. "_Tell me_ where she is, or I'll-"

"Or you'll _what_?" the bartender retorted. Despite the mixture of blood, tears, and snot covering his face, he still managed to glare fiercely up at his boss. "You really think, after five years of working here, of being your _bitch_, there's anything you can do to _scare_ me?" Slowly, grimacing with the effort, he shook his head. "I won't...let you hurt her...anymore."

Randy pressed his lips together in a thin line. "This was never any of your business, Coddles. You should have stayed out of it-"

"Oh, but it _is_ my business!" the dark-haired young man interjected wildly. He let out a laugh, the sound of it hysterical and just the slightest bit unhinged. "_I'm _the one who let her in that night! I'm the one who brought her into your world! I _stayed out of it_ for _three years_, and watched you _use_ her-"

Cody broke off, pausing to catch his breath before going on. "You think...that I don't know anything - but I know _everything_! I _know_...that you sent those two vamps to her apartment...to _kill _her - just like I _know_ that they won't find her at that clinic."

The bartender pushed himself onto his elbows, his mouth twisting in a humorless hysterical grin. "What do you think is gonna happen when they storm that place and realize she's gone? They're gonna think you double-crossed them, and they'll come gunning for _you_-"

His words were cut off as Randy clamped one hand over his face, shoving him back down to the ground. "Shut up," the Viper's Pit owner snapped. He rose to his feet, wiping his bloody hand off on his jeans. "You think you're so smart; that you've got it all figured out." He nailed Cody with a final nasty kick to the kidney area, evoking a low groan from the bartender. "Get the _fuck_ out of my sight."

"With _pleasure_," Grunting with exertion, Cody struggled to his feet. He staggered toward the double doors, clutching his bruised midsection with one arm. "I'm _through_...with this _shit_." He drew in a deep labored breath. "I _quit_."

"You can't quit, Cody." At the sound of Randy's voice - cold, methodical - Cody froze, turning back around. As he did, he heard a sharp metallic _CLICK_, but in his wounded state, its meaning didn't register with him...until he saw the gun, the unblinking black eye of the muzzle staring back at him.

The bartender's eyes bulged in terror; Randy's expression never so much as twitched. "You're _fired_."

He pulled the trigger; the round hit Cody right between the eyes, blowing through the back of his skull, splattering the wall behind him with blood and brain matter. The dark-haired young man dropped to his knees, swaying back and forth for a moment before slumping onto the floor in a lifeless heap.

For a heartbeat, all was still. Then Randy stirred, lowering the gun back down to his side. Strolling over to where Cody lay, he nudged the body with his boot, rolling it over onto its back. The bartender's eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling, still bearing their final expression of frightened surprise. Blood pooled around his head in a dark red halo.

The Viper's Pit owner heard the frantic clatter of footsteps, followed a second later by the creak and crash of the double doors as Ted came barreling through them. "I heard a gunshot; what-" The words died in his throat as he took in the scene - Cody's body, the pools of blood, the gun still clenched in his boss's hand.

The blond-haired young man backed up until his back collided with the wall, clapping both hands over his mouth as he uttered a hoarse involuntary cry. "Jesus _fuck_!" he finally managed to sputter. "What the _fuck_ did you _do_-"

"I took care of a problem," Randy retorted brusquely. "Which is what _you're_ going to do as well." He looked up, his blue eyes narrowed as they focused on his one remaining subordinate. "Get _this_-" He gave Cody's body a disdainful nudge. "-out of here, and dump it in the river. When you get that done, I want you to clean this entire room. Scrub _everything_ down, and make sure you use bleach-"

Ted, however, was already shaking his head vehemently. His complexion had turned a sickly shade of greenish-white, and he looked as though he was about to be sick. "_Fuck_ that," the bartender whispered. "I didn't sign up for this-"

His voice became a unintelligible gurgle as Randy came toward him, grabbing him by the throat and shoving him hard against the wall. "No, you _did_ sign up for this," the Viper's Pit owner snarled. "You've known the risks ever since you started working here."

He jammed the gun barrel into Ted's cheek, and the blond-haired young man let out a petrified whimper. Randy's countenance was stony; his tone both thoughtful and threatening: "Cody...I _thought_ I could trust him...but he turned out to be a _disappointment_." He paused, pressing the gun in even tighter. "I don't want to have to say the same thing about _you_."

For what seemed like an eternity, there was nothing...and then Ted gradually nodded, his Adam's Apple jumping as he gulped. "All right," the bartender whispered. "I'll do it."

"Good boy," Randy pulled the gun away. The hot metal of the muzzle had left a burn in Ted's cheek, which was already starting to blister, but the Viper's Pit owner took no notice. Instead, he relaxed his grip on Ted's throat, turning away and heading toward the double doors. "Now...if you'll excuse me..._I've_ got an _errand_ to run..."

* * *

Dave sat by the bedside, holding Mickie's hand between both of his. The brunette lay on her side toward him, the covers pulled up over her body, her eyes closed as she slept. It should have brought him peace, this shared moment between them...but the vampire couldn't ignore the fact that Mickie's breathing was growing shallower; that it seemed to take more and more effort for her chest to rise with each inhalation of oxygen.

Dave pressed Mickie's hand to his lips, kissing her fingers, feeling tears of frustration and anguish sting his eyes. He wondered how he even could have thought himself powerful, because right now, he had never felt more power_less_. And it didn't matter how strong he was or how fast he could move...because none of those things could stop what was happening to Mickie.

_I would give it all up..._the vampire thought to himself. _All of it, even time. I would give up eternity if it would keep you here with me...because I don't want to live forever if I can't live without you..._

"Dave?"

The big man started at the sound of Mickie's voice, looking up toward her face. The brunette's brown eyes were half-open, focused on Dave in the gloom of the bedroom. She licked her lips, which were cracked and dry. "There's something...I need to tell you..." A pause as she drew in a deep strained breath. "About my brother...about _John_-"

"Shh..." Dave disentangled one of his hands, gently pushing a few limp strands of hair back from Mickie's face. "It doesn't matter now-"

"Yes, it _does_!" Despite the softness of Mickie's voice, there was still a hint of her former strength, and the big man obligingly fell silent. The brunette took another deep breath. "Rob...was a _Hunter_."

As soon as she said it, Dave felt the final piece of the puzzle fall into place - Cena's presence at the apartment, Mickie's use of his first name, even her description of Rob's strange behavior after their parent's death - _it all made sense now._

Mickie continued. "He was part of John's team - the two of them were tracking a vamp, they got separated-" She hesitated for a moment. "Rob...didn't make it." She averted her gaze for a moment, tears brimming on her bottom lashes. "That's why John's here; why he's so protective - he thinks that he can still make this _right_ somehow. He thinks...that if he can just save _me_...it'll make up for not being able to save _Rob_."

The brunette swallowed hard. "But it won't last - because soon, I won't be _human_. And when that day comes, I won't mean _anything_ to him anymore - I'll be just another vamp; just another _animal_ that needs to be put down." She sagged back against the pillow. "And part of me _does_ hate him...not just for what he did to me or you...but because he lived and Rob didn't."

She paused, and Dave felt her fingers tighten over his. "Dave...if something happens to me...I want _you_ to take care of our child."

The vampire shook his head, gritting his teeth. "Don't say that; _nothing's_ going to happen-"

"You don't know that!" Mickie interjected hotly. "I know what happening to me - I know I'm getting weaker. Even the _doctor_ didn't know if I'd survive the birth, or even carry the baby to term." The brunette weakly shook her head. "Maybe...we'll both die - but if it survives and I don't-" At this, Dave opened his mouth to protest, and she quickly cut him off: "-I want you to _promise me_ you'll take care of it!"

The big man didn't speak for a long time, and when he finally did, his voice was tight, as though he was trying with everything he had not to break down: "_Listen to me_ - you're going to be _fine_. We're going to get out of here, and we're going to find someplace where we can exist in peace - you, me, _and_ the baby."

Mickie's eyes never left his. "_Promise me_."

The vampire stared back at her, and then gradually bowed his head, the air leaving him in one long resigned sign. "_I promise_..."

The brunette relaxed, sinking back down against the mattress. "Thank you..." Her voice, so strong a second ago, was now an exhausted murmur.

Dave started to say something else when his stomach abruptly emitted a low growl of hunger. Mickie must have heard it, too, because she lifted her head a little off the pillow. "You're hungry - you should eat."

The big man shook his head. "It's nothing; I can wait 'til later-"

"Dave," Mickie's voice was gentle, coaxing. "You _need_ to feed." The vampire glanced up at her face; the brunette's expression was solemn. Her fingers squeezed his once more. "You need to get your strength back. You have to be _strong_ - strong for _both_ of us."

Dave, however, remained resistant. "I can't just leave you alone-"

"I'll be _fine_," the brunette interjected quietly. "Look at me - I'm not going anywhere." She pulled her hand free, reaching out to touch Dave's face. "_Go_ - I'll be right here...when you get back..." Fatigue crept into her tone, and her arm drooped, falling back down onto the mattress as she tumbled back toward slumber.

The vampire slowly rose to his feet. He bent down, kissing Mickie's cheek, his lips lingering against her skin. "I love you..." he whispered, but the brunette was already asleep.

* * *

Randy crouched down at the edge of the hallway, peering around the corner, watching silently as Dave exited Cody's apartment. The vampire looked in his direction, and the Viper's Pit owner tensed, making himself motionless - but the big man instead turned the other way, heading down the corridor toward the elevator.

The blue-eyed man smiled - despite all his bravado, Cody had still been stupid enough to conceal Mickie in the most obvious hiding spot. As soon as Dave was out of sight, Randy slithered around the corner, clinging to the wall like a cockroach as he advanced toward his late subordinate's abode.

Dave was a surprise - he had genuinely not been expecting the vampire to come strolling out of the apartment. Part of Randy - the coldly logical part - had wanted to kill him right then and there; to put two bullets into the back of his head and be done with it.

But instead of reaching for the gun shoved in the back of his waistband, the Viper's Pit owner had merely watched and waited.

It was risky, his leaving the vampire alive, but that moron Cody had been _right_ - Melina _was_ going to be pissed when she found out Mickie wasn't at Bryan's; if Randy had any hope of surviving her wrath _intact_, he would need a bargaining chip. Besides, shooting Dave in the head...it was too _quick_, too _painless_. Randy wanted the big man dead...but he wanted him to suffer first; to be totally broken down, physically _and_ mentally_, _to see the last faint glimmer of hope fade from his eyes.

Then, and _only_ then, would he pull the trigger.

The Viper's Pit owner reached out, trying the doorknob. It turned easily beneath his hand, and Randy's smile widened. Easing his tall muscular frame inside, he carefully closed the door behind him before making his way through the darkened apartment. He reached the bedroom, pushing open the door, feeling a muted flicker of _something_ that was almost emotion surge up within him at the sight of the sleeping figure in the bed.

The blue-eyed man crept around the bed, his feet making no noise on the carpet. He stood there, staring at Mickie for a few seconds, watching the slight rise and fall of her body as she slept. Eventually, he reached out toward her, his fingertips grazing her cheek.

At the soft caress, Mickie stirred, groaning softly. "Dave? Is that you?" She opened her eyes, blinking sleepily as she focused on the figure towering above her - and then all of a sudden, she froze, her brown irises growing wide in terror as she realized just _who_ was staring down at her. "_Randy_-"

That was all she got out before the Viper's Pit owner clamped his hand over her mouth, stifling her cries. "Hello, _Mick_," Randy remarked almost pleasantly. "Been awhile, hasn't it?"

Balling his other hand into a fist, he punched her in the face. Mickie went stiff, her eyes rolling back to the whites as she lapsed into unconsciousness. Randy cocked his head to the side, studying her for a moment or two with detached fascination. His tone was almost matter-of-fact: "Did you _really_ think that I wouldn't find you?"

No answer greeted him, and the blue-eyed man pulled away, yanking back the covers. Almost immediately, he tensed, actual bewilderment flitting across his stoic face when he saw Mickie's pregnant belly. The Viper's Pit owner sucked in a sharp surprised breath, arching one eyebrow. "Interesting..." was all he said.

Grabbing Mickie by the arms, he pulled her senseless body out of bed, dragging her across the floor. When he reached the living room, he stopped, his mental gears whirring as he pondered what to do next.

At this point, it wasn't enough just to _take_ Mickie - there were too many players in this game right now; too many others who wanted the scarred brunette and her vampire boyfriend just as much as he did. In order for his vengeance to proceed as planned, he would need to send Dave a _message _- one that he would would have no trouble spotting...and one that would let the vampire know _exactly_ who he was dealing with.

Randy let go of Mickie's arms, which thudded limply against the floor. Moving into the kitchen, he headed straight for the knife block, pulling out the biggest butcher's knife he could find and testing its sharpness against his thumb. The blade drew blood easily, and the Viper's Pit owner smiled, looking back at the unconscious brunette.

Holding the knife at his side, he advanced toward her...

* * *

Dave had just finished eating when Mickie's frightened scream tore through his head.

The vampire immediately let go of his unconscious prey - some drug dealer scum he had found selling on the corner - backing away as he clutched his head with both hands. That _sound_ - it was like the essence of emotion; pain and fear and panic all rolled into one, shooting up and down his massive body like a lightning bolt composed entirely of needles.

The last time he had felt anything remotely like this, Mickie had been on the verge of committing suicide - which meant that..._oh God_-

The big man ran as fast as he could, not caring who saw or might notice. He wasn't that far from Cody's apartment building - a block, two at the most - but nevertheless, it seemed to take an eternity for him to reach it, to take the steps five at a time, to make his way through the labyrinthine maze of corridors before he reached the apartment.

The first thing he saw was the door, which he remembered closing, ajar, and the vampire felt the panic inside him ratchet up several more notches. "Mickie?" He pushed open the door, striding into the apartment, looking around wildly. "Mickie?"

No answer came, and Dave dashed toward the bedroom, his heart sinking even further when he saw that the bed was empty. "_Mickie_!" the vampire roared. He kept calling her name, even though he knew that she was gone, hoping against hope that she would answer; that he would wake up and find that this was all a nightmare.

Gradually, his voice died away, and as he stood there, wallowing in his grief, that's when it came to him - the _smell_, thick and coppery, like heat and pennies.

The smell of _blood_.

Dave turned, moving back toward the living room, his heightened senses picking up on the aroma, which was stronger now. He didn't want to see where it had come from, but his body, instead of obeying his commands, kept moving him inexorably toward its source.

The vampire halted suddenly. In front of him, where the wall met the floor, was a pool of blood; he had actually trod through it during his panicked rush to the bedroom. Through the deafening haze of panic engulfing him, Dave was able to ascertain that it was too small to have come from a fatal wound - but then the pool rippled, as something dripped into it. The vampire's eyes slowly slid upward, noticing for the first time the enormous knife driven into the wall...as well as the two things impaled by its blade.

One was a business card for the Viper's Pit; blood had soaked into the thick paper, nearly obscuring the coiled snake logo. The other...was a severed human finger.

A _woman's_ finger.

Dave couldn't feel his feet; he wasn't even aware that he was backing up until he crashed into the wall. The vampire slid down to the floor, covering his mouth with both hands to stifle his hoarse screams, unable to tear his gaze away from the grisly tableau. As he watched, a bead of blood oozed from the finger, descending down to the pool beneath it; Dave could have sworn he heard the sound it made as it landed.

_PLOP..._

_ PLOP..._

_PLOP..._

Dave's eyes abruptly rolled back into his head, and his vision mercifully faded to black as he fainted...


	32. Chapter 32: When It All Falls Down

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! Another intense one, I'm afraid. I actually had another ending to this chapter originally; I decided to cut it and use it to open the next, b/c quite frankly, just writing everything else depressed the hell out of me. Right now, I feel totally drained; I need to go lie down and not think for the next 12 hours. Hopefully, you'll enjoy. PEACE!**

**Thank you to **Animal Luvr 4 Life, AprilGilber1996, Esha Napoleon, Shandy777, Nastygrl25, BigRedMachineUK, Girl on Fire, nikki1335, **and **XxxDarkCloudxxX **for reviewing the last chapter! I love you ALL! Really! Truly! HUGS!**

* * *

Chapter 31: When It All Falls Down

"_Tell me, would you kill to save a life?/Tell me, would you kill to do what's right?..." - 30 Seconds To Mars, "Hurricane"_

The faint atonal tinkle of breaking glass woke Bryan up.

For a few minutes, the doctor didn't move; merely lay tensely in bed as he strained to listen. Nothing followed, but just as he was about to write the sound off as nothing more than the tail end of a dream, it came again; louder this time.

Bryan sat up, shoving the covers back; next to him, Gail stirred, groaning softly. "Daniel? What is it?"

"Nothing," the physician hastily replied, his tone distracted. "Go back to sleep."

The words were not even out of his mouth before the noise came again... followed by the faint _crunch_ of footsteps this time. The Asian woman sat up, her almond-shaped eyes widening. "That's not _nothing_." She inched closer to Bryan, reaching out to tentatively touch his arm. "Randy...he's _here_...isn't he?" Her alto voice was low, but not soft enough to mask the fear quavering at its edges.

Bryan placed his hand over hers, squeezing it reassuringly. "I don't know," he answered honestly.

Gail's fingers tightened on his arm. "We have to call the police-"

The doctor immediately shook his head, negating the suggestion. "We _both_ know that if it _is _Orton up there...the police can't help us."

Reaching over and sliding out the nightstand drawer, Bryan pulled out three items: a heavy Mag-Lite flashlight, a police-issue taser gun, and a black-and-red can of Mace - donations from his few friends within the city's police department. Twisting around, he grabbed Gail's hands in both of his, staring earnestly into her eyes. "Listen to me," the physician whispered. "I'm going up there. If I'm not back in five minutes, I want you to lock this door and don't come out for _anything_. And if someone actually makes it through, I want you to blast them in the face with _this_-" He grabbed the Mace canister, pressing it into her hand. "-and run like hell. Do you understand?"

Gail's lips trembled, but she resolutely bobbed her head up and down in a nod. "I understand."

"Good." Bryan held his assistant's face between both of his hands. "Now _promise me_ you won't leave this room."

He felt the Asian woman's head move in another nod, followed by her nearly inaudible reply: "_I promise..."_

Bryan said nothing further, only leaned in, kissing the corner of her mouth. Snatching up the flashlight and the taser, he stood, moving quietly out of the room.

The bedroom he and Gail shared was tucked away in the rear area of the basement clinic - at night, they would lock the reinforced doors to the first floor and backyard and camp out in the below-ground space until morning. The doctor crept up the stairs, pausing at the door leading to the main area of the clinic. He pressed his ear against it, but all he could hear on the other side was silence.

Bryan took an enormous breath, swallowing it down in a discernible gulp. Taking a moment or two to switch on the flashlight, he drew back the heavy deadbolt, nudging the door open with his toe.

The lobby area was dark, save for the yellowish-white light of the streetlamps streaming in through the windows. Bryan tiptoed forward on the balls of his bare feet, playing the beam of the flashlight over every corner, every shadow. He gripped the taser in his other hand, crossing his wrists over one another so as to illuminate his area of shooting.

The front door hung open, swaying slightly in the faint breeze. The physician halted, training his flashlight beam on the entranceway. As far as he could tell, whoever had done it had broken the glass pane, then reached inside to unlock it. _That_ wasn't unusual - the clinic usually got robbed about once a month. What _was_ unusual was that there seemed to be no trace of the culprits.

Bryan slid the shaft of light over toward the row of treatment rooms, where the locked cabinet of medications and painkillers stood. The mesh-wrapped cupboard was almost always the first thing potential thieves headed for, but right now, there was no one trying to extract its assortment of pharmaceuticals; the cabinet stood unattended like a silent behemoth in the darkness.

The doctor frowned, swallowing hard. It was _too_ quiet, _too_ still, and while he wanted desperately to believe that the ones who had broken the clinic's door were nothing more than a couple of desperate junkies, he was becoming convinced with each passing second that it was something much more sinister at work. And then there was the little voice inside his head, growing louder by the moment, screaming at him to _run_, to get back down to his room and _lock the fucking door_-

Bryan froze, the skin all over his body suddenly prickling up into goosebumps. There had been no noise, no movement...and yet, he somehow _knew_ that he was no longer alone; that there was _something_ in this room with him.

The physician whirled around, unable to bite back a jolt of shock as his flashlight beam fell on the beautiful woman standing only a few feet behind. Melina smiled, the grin hungry and vulpine, revealing the elongated shafts of her fangs. "_Hello_," she purred.

Bryan's mouth moved, but no sound emerged. With numb fingers, he squeezed the trigger of the taser gun. The electrified barbs sprang toward the female vampire, but with unbelievable speed, she darted out of their path, lunging forward and nailing the doctor with a hard kick to the midsection. Bryan immediately crumpled up and collapsed to the floor, both flashlight and taser flying out of his hands and sliding across the floor in opposite directions.

A low menacing chuckle floated up from the back of the room, and Miz and Morrison emerged from the shadows, pausing on either side of Melina, all three of them staring down at her handiwork. The female vampire looked up, peering hard at one, then the other. "Find the bitch. Tear this place apart if you have to, but _find her_."

Miz shrugged, his mouth twisting up in a wicked grin. "We aim to please," Still laughing, he and his partner split up, heading in opposite directions across the main floor of the clinic.

Melina flicked her gaze back toward the physician. Bryan clutched his abdomen with both arms, a strangled wheeze escaping his throat as he struggled to draw air back into his body. The female vampire strolled toward him leisurely. "Now..." she cooed, as sounds of breaking glass and splintering wood began to emanate from different areas of the clinic. "It's time that you and I were acquainted..."

* * *

A loud crash rang out upstairs, vibrating down through the ceiling, causing Gail to flinch. Vaulting off the bed, she ran to the door, throwing it closed and slamming the deadbolt into place. The Asian woman backed away, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth, trying to compose her thought amidst the shrill howl of panic engulfing her brain.

Like the two doors encapsulating the basement clinic, the one to their bedroom was also reinforced - a person would have to be _very_ determined to force their way in here - so in terms of personal safety, _she _was fine...but Daniel was still out there; possibly hurt, or maybe even-

_No_. She would not think that. She _could_ not think that. Dwelling on the "what ifs" wouldn't help her _or _the doctor - right now, her best course of action was to remain rational, and coldly assess her options.

The police were out. Gail didn't have a cell phone, and Bryan had left his out in the clinic. Besides, the other residents in this neighborhood had a tendency to bury their heads in the sand whenever something illegal occurred - they would be more likely to pull down their blinds and ignore the screaming than call the police. And even if someone _did_...there was no guarantee they would arrive in time.

Which meant that it was now up to _her_ to get help somehow - and if the cops were no longer a possibility, then she needed to find some other alternative-

The physician's assistant froze as the idea washed over her. _Of course_. Cena and his team - _they_ would be able to help. If anything, they _owed_ the clinic for the misfortune they had unceremoniously dragged in with them. And in terms of contacting them - sometime after he had brought Mickie in, the lead Hunter had given Gail a small box that looked like a garage door opener.

What had he said at the time? _This is a panic button; the receiver's hooked up to my gun belt. _She could almost picture the unblinking intimidating stare on Cena's face as he spoke. _You keep that in your pocket at all times, and if something, ANYTHING, happens, you press it and we'll be there..._

The Asian woman ran to the nightstand, yanking open the top drawer and rummaging through it. The panic button wasn't there. Frantically, she pulled the middle drawer, then the bottom, rifling through their contents with the same frenzied urgency, but it was no use - the remote was nowhere to be found.

Letting out a low frustrated wail, Gail slumped on the floor, leaning against the bed, involuntary tears leaking from her eyes. Where _was_ it? She distinctly recalled having it in her pocket during her shift today; her fingers had kept playing its contours like some sort of electronic worry stone.

The physician assistant groaned, the sound full of exasperation. She had just remembered - the panic button was in the pocket of her white doctor's coat. Unfortunately for her, the coat was hanging on a coat tree..._outside the room_, at the other end of the basement clinic.

Before she could chastise herself for her stupidity, the Asian woman heard the clatter of footsteps on the basement stairs, accompanied by an unintelligible muddle of conversation. She tensed, but the footsteps headed toward the opposite end of the basement, fading away into silence. Gail slowly let her breath out, relaxing...and then, without warning, a loud crash shattered the stillness. _BANG_.

The physician's assistant jumped, banging her head on the edge of the nightstand, unable to stifle a gasp of pain and surprise. The sound came again, a little closer this time. _BANG_. Then again, even closer_. BANG_.

The Asian woman let out a low whimper. Whoever was out there, they were _thorough_ - from the sound of it, they were kicking the doors in one by one. And when they got to _her_ room...well, the reinforced door would slow them down, but at the same time, it would be a signal to them that someone was inside.

The loud bangs drew progressively nearer and nearer - and then, all of a sudden, the bedroom door rattled in its hinges as someone kicked it from the outside.

Gail almost screamed, clapping both hands over her mouth at the last second to stifle the cry. That door was reinforced steel; it shouldn't have budged - but it had _budged_. More than that...it was actually bending _inward_. Nothing short of C4 could have damaged that door in one blow, which meant that-

_Vampires_. _Here_.

Gail's almond-shaped eyes bulged in terror, and grabbing the black-and-red canister of Mace, she dived under the bed. Barely half a second later, another thunderous blow shook the reinforced barrier, and the deadbolt flew off, sailing across the room like a projectile. The door swung open, crashing against the opposite wall as two figures strode in.

The physician's assistant pressed her lips together tightly, trying her very hardest not to scream. There was less than a foot of space between the bedframe and the floor; even with her petite frame, she still had to turn her head to the side and lie absolutely flat.

She could them talking above him; one of them, his tone slightly miffed: "I _told_ you, there's no one in here."

The other, clearly the more hotheaded of the two. "There's _gotta_ be! If there's no one here, how come the door was locked?"

Gail squeezed her eyes shut, the rapid thud of her heart nearly drowning out their arguing. She remained perfectly still, praying that they wouldn't find her, that they would lose interest, that they would leave this room and return to the main floor-

A sudden blast of air hit her bare shoulders as the mattress was abruptly and violently upended, exposing her. The Asian woman shrieked, wriggling her body around, staring fearfully at the two vampires peering at her through the open slats of the bed frame.

One of them leaned forward, his mouth curving in a hungry grin. "_Well_..." he drawled. His tongue darted out, sliding over the sharpened spines of his fangs. "What do we have _here_?"

Gail had no recollection of actually making a conscious decision; everything that followed was the result of unadulterated instinct. Thrusting the Mace canister toward the two vampires, she pressed the nozzle, the pepper spray rushing forth in a noxious white haze.

Instantly, both vampires screamed and jerked away, clutching their eyes as the stinging chemical sank into their mucous membranes. Gail felt her own eyes smart as well, but she didn't hesitate - coughing, she squirmed out from under the bed, darting around the mewling vampires and dashing out the open door.

For just a heartbeat, panic overtook her, and she halted, looking around uncertainly as she struggled to regain her bearings. But the sensation quickly crumpled beneath the overwhelming surge of adrenaline, and the physician's assistant ran toward the main area of the basement clinic.

Up ahead of her, she could see the coat tree; could even see her white doctor's coat hanging from one of the lower hooks. Unfortunately, in her agitation, her body lost all muscle memory of how to stop - she crashed into the coat tree, sending both it and her tumbling to the floor.

Gail thrashed around, struggling to free herself - her arms and legs were tangled up in the coats, and she came dangerously close to impaling her eye socket on one of the hooks. Through the cloud of hysteria surrounding her, she saw the panic button fly out of her coat pocket and sail - almost in dreamlike slow motion - across the floor, skidding to a stop several feet away.

With a desperate cry, the Asian woman Army-crawled toward the remote, dragging the coat tree along with her. She could hear footsteps behind her - or maybe it was just the terrified thud of her own heart - but Gail forced herself to ignore it, focusing only on the small plastic box just out of arm's reach.

She drew closer - two feet, a foot, six inches, _two_. Gail stretched out her arm, her slender fingers groping, grasping...

Her hand closed around the remote; with her thumb, she jabbed the button. A red light flickered on, steady and unblinking and reassuring. The physician's assistant let her breath out slowly, feeling relief wash over her - and then the hand sank into her hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking her back.

Gail screamed, thrashing around as she struggled to free herself. She felt hot breath against her ear; the mingling aromas of Mace and rotting meat; a voice, enraged and rasping, nearly deafening her: "You fucking _bitch_-"

Her last thought, before the fangs sank into her neck, was: _Oh, Daniel, I'm so sorry, I love you-_

And then, for Gail - former rich girl, former med student, former junkie - there was no more coherent thought.

Only the _pain._

* * *

Gail's screams echoed up the basement stairway. Bryan sat slumped against the wall, barely conscious, but at the sound of the Asian woman's shrieks, his head snapped up sharply. "_Gail_!" the doctor shouted, his voice hoarse with panic and raw terror as he struggled to scramble to his feet.

Melina's boot slammed into his throat, simultaneously pinning him back and cutting off his air supply. Bryan gagged, his face darkening to red, then purple, as he squirmed about. "_Gail_?" the female vampire repeated mockingly. She glanced briefly over her shoulder, drinking in the sounds emanating from the open basement door before turning her attention back to the physician. "Hmm...she sounds young; _pretty_, even - it would be a _shame_ if something happened to her."

Melina leaned down a little, her voice dropping to a cajoling murmur. "It doesn't _have_ to end this way...for _either_ of you." She removed her boot sole from Bryan's trachea, crouching down until she was eye-to-eye with the doctor. The female vampire cocked her head to the side; her expression was soft, almost angelic. "I _could _make it stop - all _you _have to do is tell me where _Mickie _is."

Bryan coughed, his features resuming their normal color as he sucked oxygen back into his body. His face was bruised and bloodied, while his right arm hung at an awkward angle; dislocated, perhaps even broken. "I don't know!" the physician blurted out frantically between violent hacks. "I _swear_ I don't know!"

Melina's smirk evaporated, rage warping her beautiful features into something twisted and demonic. With a frustrated scream, she grabbed Bryan's chin, yanking him to his feet; actually lifting him off the ground. The female vampire's full lips drew back from her fangs, her dark eyes glowing red in the gloom. "Why are you being so _stubborn_?" she growled. "Why won't you just _talk_?"

Bryan flailed in her grip, choking. "I'm telling you the _truth_ - I _swear_ I don't know _where_ Mickie is!" Another scream floated up from the basement area, and the physician struggled even harder. "Let her go! _Please_! She doesn't know anything-"

"Oh, she _doesn't_?" Melina raised her eyebrows questioningly, as though this was news to her. She glanced back over her shoulder. "How _unfortunate_ for _her_, then."

"_Bastards_!" Involuntary tears rolled down Bryan's face as the raspy roar tore from his throat. "You fucking _bastards_!" The doctor wriggled with all his might, his legs kicking in mid-air. "Leave her alone! Come after _me_! Hurt _me_!"

Melina sneered, a silvery sinister giggle escaping her throat as she stared up at the squirming physician. "But what would be the fun in _that_?"

A faint whistling sound darted through the air. Melina's dark eyes widened and she quickly ducked as the silver-tipped arrow cut through the empty space her head had occupied less than a second ago. The female vampire whipped around, yanking Bryan in front of her like a shield as she backed up. She peered over the physician's shoulder, her eyes narrowing hatefully at the two Hunters advancing toward her across the lobby floor. "_Cena_." she hissed.

The lead Hunter gripped one of his Desert Eagle .44s in both hands, the barrel of it aimed toward Melina. His emotionless countenance revealed nothing, and his voice, when he spoke, was just as flat: "_Melina._" His stare shifted slightly, focusing on the gasping form of the doctor. "Let him go."

The female vampire let out a low laugh that was almost a purr. "Oh, I don't _think_ so." No response greeted her, and Melina flicked her gaze toward the other individual, who had already notched another arrow into her bow and drawn the string back in preparation to fire. "_Beth..._long time, no see. How long's it been, two years?"

The blond-haired woman didn't move; her expression was just as icily blank as her partner's. "_Four_."

Another silken purr from Melina. "How's the arm?"

This time, Beth's pale blue eyes narrowed just a touch. "_Fantastic,_" the female Hunter snapped tightly. She drew the bow string back a little more. "Why don't you come over here and see for yourself?"

"Hmmm..." Melina murmured, the corners of her mouth curving upward in another smirk. "I think I'm just _fine_ where I am."

As she spoke, Cena took a step toward her, and the female vampire immediately widened the distance between them, dragging Bryan with her. "Stay where you are!" Both Hunters instantly froze. Melina went on. "Any closer, and I'll snap his _neck_." To punctuate her statement, her slender fingers - like pale spiders in the darkness - tightened over Bryan's windpipe; the physician immediately gagged and strained for breath.

Cena didn't move, but he didn't lower the gun, either. His handsome face had assumed that tight closed-down look which meant that he was thinking; weighing his options carefully before acting. He had no doubt that Melina would carry out her threat if he forced her hand, and her position behind Bryan meant that he couldn't get a shot off without risking hitting the doctor as well.

For what seemed like an eternity, no one moved; merely remained in that motionless tableau like a diorama of gunslingers - the female vampire, the two Hunters, and Bryan the unwilling hostage in the middle. Eventually, Melina broke the silence once again. "So..._Cena_..." Her voice was light, mocking. "It's been awhile."

Cena regarded her for a second. "Too long." he eventually replied. He took a step, and the female vampire tensed, but the lead Hunter merely moved to the side, maintaining the same amount of distance between them. "Though...I have to say I'm surprised Dave didn't mention we were in town."

Melina laughed again, but the sound was bitter, forced, this time. "You aren't exactly up on current events, _are you_?" For a moment, her eyes flashed red in the dimness before she once more took cover behind Bryan. "I threw his ass _out_."

Cena's mouth twitched, for a second revealing something that could have almost been amusement. "_Really_? I didn't know that." The lead Hunter paused, taking another subtle side-step. "So, then...whose cock are you riding now?"

Another laugh from the female vampire. "I didn't think you _cared_."

The lead Hunter shrugged; a slight nonchalant movement. "I _don't_ - I just want to know where Bullet Number Two is going...once I put the first through your _head_."

"Oh, _please_!" Melina's tone was both entertained and exasperated, as though this conversation concerned a topic far more trivial than life or death. "How many times have you said those exact words - and how many times have you failed to do _just that_?" The female vampire shook her head. "We _both _know how this is going to end...the same way it _always_ does."

Instead of answering, Cena took another sidestep, then another. His movements - so clearly purposeful, but still outside the directive Melina had set - must have irked the female vampire, because even in the faint light, the lead Hunter could still see her beautiful features shift as she scowled. "What _are _you _doing_ - trying to line up a better shot?"

Cena shook his head, his features once again bearing that brief flash of near-amusement. "No...just letting _Beth_ get one."

Melina's dark eyes bulged in panicked surprise, and she snapped her head back toward Beth...just as the female Hunter released the bow string. The female vampire ducked again, but in her instinctual haste, she failed to notice that the blond woman's aim had shifted slightly downward - this time, the arrow shot between Bryan's splayed legs, hitting Melina in the calf.

The female vampire yowled like a wounded cat, letting go of Bryan and going down to one knee. The physician collapsed face-first onto the scuffed linoleum, clinging to the floor as though he wanted to melt into it. Both Hunters ignored him, as they advanced slowly toward the injured vampire.

The fiberglass shaft of the arrow was embedded in the meat of Melina's calf, the protruding silver barb glittering blackly with dark blood. Grimacing, the female vampire pushed herself backward with her good leg. Her dark eyes, bright with pain and enmity, darted back and forth between Cena and Beth. Her lips drew back from her fangs as she let out a baleful hiss - and in that moment, despite her stunning human exterior, she looked for all the world like a wounded animal; one who has been backed into a corner and knows death is imminent, but is still ready to take down a few of its captors in the process.

Cena halted, leveling the gun at Melina's head. His finger tightened on the trigger. "Say goodbye..._bitch_."

A flicker of movement from the open basement doorway caught his eye, and the lead Hunter automatically crouched down in a defensive position, Beth doing the same. He'd been anticipating Melina's current paramour - Dave, or whoever had assumed the unenviable role of servicing the female vampire - to be not far from his sire...but even _he _hadn't anticipated _two_ figures to come barreling out of the basement, like twin whirling dervishes.

In this line of work, where being just a _second_ too slow could mean death, Cena sometimes forgot just how paralyzing genuine surprise could be - how it could inhibit your instincts just long enough to get you killed. He swiftly tucked and rolled out of the way as the two figures hurtled toward him, but it was more out of reflex than anything else, and the lead Hunter could only lie there dumbly, staring at the blurs of motion as though he had never seen vampires before in his life.

He could make out the faint suggestion of features amidst the muddled streams of movement; a few defining characteristics - a mohawk on one, sunglasses on the other. Moving more like one unified entity than two separate ones, they carefully scooped up Melina and sped out the open front door.

The lead Hunter raised his gun, even though he knew it was pointless - the trio of vamps had to be halfway up the side of the building by now, if not on the roof. He couldn't banish what he had just seen from his head: _Two. There were two. THERE WERE TWO-_

"Cena?" At the sound of Beth's voice, the lead Hunter's paralysis snapped, and he quickly climbed to his feet, holstering his weapon, instinctively erasing all traces of confusion and astonishment from his sharply-carved features. The blond woman glanced from the door to him, her countenance only slightly less composed than his. "What...the _hell_...was _that_-"

"I don't know," Cena interrupted brusquely, his tone indicating there would be no further discussion on the matter. He glanced past Beth's shoulder at the prone groaning form of Bryan. "I'll check on the doc - you go find Gail."

The female Hunter didn't ask questions; merely jogged briskly toward the basement, taking the steps two at a time. Cena strode over to the physician; kneeling down and looping one arm under his chest, he carefully hoisted him to his knees. Bryan immediately winced, reflexively clutching his injured arm. He stared blearily up into the stoic face of his savior, as though unsure of what was going on. "Am I dead?"

The barest suggestion of a grin flickered across the lead Hunter's mouth. ""Fraid not, Doc." The smile vanished just as quickly as it had emerged, and Cena looked toward the front door; toward the fragments of broken glass on the linoleum floor. "What were they doing here?"

The doctor drew in a strained breath, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I don't know - I heard a noise, I came up...and they were _here_." His eyes flicked toward Cena's. "The woman...Melina...she kept asking where Mickie was, but _I _didn't know-"

"Wait a minute," Cena spoke carefully, trying to keep his expression calm despite the cold clawed hand clamped around his insides. "Are you saying that they were looking for _Mickie_?"

Bryan nodded slowly, as though the mere movement exhausted him. "Uh-huh..." He licked his lips, shooting another pain-glazed look in Cena's direction. "But I don't _understand _- what would they want with _her_-"

Cena opened his mouth to say _something_ - that he didn't know either; that nothing about this whole encounter was making any sense - when he heard the sudden clatter of footsteps, and the remark remained unspoken.

Both men turned as Beth came bolting up the stairwell, halting at the doorway. The blond woman had more stamina than anyone else on the team - but for some reason, she seemed to be having trouble catching her breath. Her complexion was a few shades paler than it had been a minute ago. With effort, she lifted her gaze, her pale blue eyes focusing on Bryan. "I...I found Gail."

Cena could almost feel the rush of emotion surging through the physician's body - the desperation mingled with hope. Bryan straightened up a little, leaning on the lead Hunter for support. "Where is she?" His voice, normally so calm and easygoing, was high-pitched and reedy. "_Where is she_?"

To this, Beth said nothing; only looked away - that single averted glance saying far more than words ever could. Cena felt Bryan's wiry form tremble violently, as comprehension and awareness crashed over him like a tidal wave. "No..." the doctor whispered. "No...I don't believe you!" Despite his injuries, he struggled to stand; Cena's grip on him the only thing preventing him from making it to his feet. "Let me _see_ her-"

"No, Bryan," The female Hunter swallowed hard, and Cena felt the cold hand sink its claws in even deeper. Beth was just like him; she _never_ cracked, no matter _what_ the circumstances - to see her like _this_, on the verge of tears, meant that things were bad...and incrementally inching toward worse.

The blond woman lifted her pale blue gaze once again. "Trust me...you don't want to see what they did to her."

Bryan sagged in Cena's grip, letting out a soft keening sound that was either a moan or a cry. Beth blinked rapidly, gulping down another breath. "I found _this_ in her hand." She held out her arm; the panic button lay in the hollow of her palm. Even in the dim light, Cena could see that it was sticky with blood. "It's how we knew...that you were in trouble."

The female Hunter hesitated, her strong jaw quivering as she forced out her next words: "She saved your life."

For a heartbeat, the physician didn't move. Then, abruptly, he hunched over, his face contorting in a silent anguished cry. Cena knew the sensation; knew how it felt to have an emotion lodged so deep inside your chest that just releasing it hurts worse than the pain that had evoked it.

He had cried like that; once, right after _it_ had happened - the catastrophe that had altered his life forever - it had been the last time he had ever cried. It was the last time he remembered _feeling_ before the blanket of numbness dropped over him - but even now, Cena could feel a few faint pangs inside him, like the muscle memory of grief, as though his body was unconsciously responding to Bryan's agony.

A hoarse tortured wail suddenly shattered the stillness, and for a moment, Cena thought that the sound had come from himself...but then he realized that it was emanating from the doctor, the force of his misery having finally shattered the barrier of silence surrounding him.

Bryan slumped back down on the ground, tears streaming down his face as ragged gasping sobs tore from his throat. The lead Hunter wrapped both arms around him - not necessarily out of consolation, but because the doctor's limbs had acquired the limp consistency of rubber. He leaned down, until his mouth was almost touching Bryan's ear, whispering five words in a voice that hinted at an anguish just as acute as the physician's:

"_I know...how you feel..."_

* * *

The flashing lights of the police cruisers cast intermittent pools of red and blue on the brick facade of the LaBell Clinic. The street was clogged with onlookers, resident and homeless alike, all observing with undisguised curiosity, the excited murmur of their varied outrageous speculations hanging over the scene like a nearly tangible haze.

From an alley several hundred yards away, safely ensconced within the shadows cast by two adjacent derelict buildings, Cena and Beth watched as well, their eyes silently tracking the movements of the officers as they carefully maneuvered the stretcher containing Gail's shrouded corpse down the front steps. Eventually, the lead Hunter turned away with a heavy sigh. "Come on, Phoenix; there's nothing more we can do here. Let's head back to base-"

"It doesn't seem fair," At the sound of Beth's voice - both bitter and thoughtful - Cena paused, glancing back over his shoulder. The blond woman's gaze was still fixed on the scene; without turning, she nodded in the direction of an ambulance, parked outside the ring of cruisers. Bryan sat in the open back, slumped against one of the doors, a gray blanket thrown over his shoulders. Paramedics had already bandaged the cuts on his face and splinted his broken arm - but from the dull shattered look in the physician's eyes, the way he was staring at everything without really seeing it, it was clear that the emotional lacerations suffered this night had cut far deeper than the physical ones, creating wounds that would take weeks, months, perhaps even _years_ to heal.

If they ever healed at all.

Beth went on. "All the good he's done - not just for us, but for the people here; the ones that everyone else has forgotten about. He's a better person than you or I will _ever_ be - but yet...he loses _everything_, while _we_ just...walk away."

The female Hunter whipped around, her expression angry. "You _know_ as well as I do what's going to happen - the vamps are going to step in, and sweep this under the rug like they _always_ do, and _Bryan_ will be the one who'll end up paying for it."

She shook her head. "Chances are, they'll pin this whole thing on him - that it was a lover's quarrel gone wrong or some bullshit like that. And even _if _he makes it out of this without getting a needle in his arm or rotting away in prison for the rest of his life...well, _look _at him!" Beth gestured in the direction of the ambulance. "He's _broken_, John - probably for _good_! How long do you think he'll last before he gives up and sticks a gun in his mouth-"

"Enough!" Cena's voice was sharp, but tinged with a knife edge of pain. "This isn't our fight anymore, Phoenix-"

"Yes, it _is_!" Beth's tone was insistent. "We started this thing; we brought it to his doorstep!"

The lead Hunter shook his head. "Bryan knew the risks-"

"Not _these_!" The female Hunter stormed toward her commander, her pretty face a mixture of ire and sorrow. "Melina and whoever those other two were...they weren't looking for _you_ or _me_ - they were looking for _Mickie_! They were looking for someone who shouldn't even be on their _radar_...and they were willing to _kill_ to find her!" Beth stopped dead, grief and confusion momentarily eclipsing the fury. "John, _what_ is going _on_-"

"I don't know!" the lead Hunter snapped. His blue eyes bore mercilessly into those of his team member. "But we can't dwell on this, Phoenix. Like it or not, we _have_ to move on-"

"Because that's what we _do_, right?" the blond woman interrupted bitterly. "We keep moving, no matter how big a mess we make or how many people get hurt in the process!" She stepped forward, jamming her face into Cena's, her voice dropping to a low terse whisper. "Tell me, John, when does it end - when there's no more bloodsuckers...or when there's no one left _alive_?"

The lead Hunter's tone was just as clipped. "What's your _point_, _Phoenix_?"

"My _point_?" Beth echoed fiercely. Her pale blue eyes narrowed. "My _point_ is that I don't _do _this because I love it. I don't even really do it for revenge anymore." She paused for a second. "I _do_ this so that _no one_ will _ever_ have to endure what I did."

The female Hunter pressed her lips together grimly. "But what I _didn't _sign on for was sacrificing human beings like pawns."

For a long tense moment, neither one of them said anything. Then, Beth stirred, pushing past Cena, the end of her compound bow nearly hitting him in the face. "Head back to base if you want - but _I'm _going to finish patrolling."

The blond woman halted, but didn't look back. "Melina and those two...they're out there somewhere. Maybe I'll get lucky and finish what I started."

The lead Hunter squeezed his azure eyes shut, his face contorting in a silent grimace of pain. "Beth, wait-" he began, turning around.

But Beth was already gone.


	33. Chapter 33: Dare You To Move

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! Another intense one, but that's getting to be the nature of the beast at this point. For those of you that are still here - good for you! It's going to be a fun ride; hopefully, you'll stay through to the end. ENJOY! PEACE!**

**Thank you to **Shandy777, BigRedMachineUK, Nastygrl25, Girl on Fire, **and **AprilGilbert1996 **for reviewing the last chapter! You ROCK! You really do. HUGS FOR ALL!**

* * *

Chapter 32: Dare You To Move

"_The tension is here/Between who you are and who you could be/Between how it is and how it should be..." - Switchfoot, "Dare You To Move"_

In her opinion, everything was going to hell.

The hard rubber soles of Beth's army boots thudded softly against the sidewalk as she made her way down the street. Out of habit, her fingers rested on the butt of her gun, ready to unholster and fire the weapon should the need arise. She moved quickly but purposefully, her pale blue eyes scanning every inch of her surroundings; assessing everything, missing nothing.

The female Hunter had been patrolling for the last hour, sticking mainly to alleyways and side streets - at this time of night, a woman walking by herself with a compound bow tended to attract attention. The rest of the team - John included - never understood why she preferred this task over all the others, but to Beth, the explanation was a no-brainer. When you hunted creatures that were stronger, faster - and _most _of the time - _smarter_ than you were, it required you to focus all of your awareness, all of your _willpower_, on the task at hand. It required you to concentrate on the here and now...and by doing so, it allowed you to keep the past at bay.

Most of the time, it worked; over the years, the blond woman had developed a level of focus and concentration that was almost Zen-like in its effectiveness. But the human psyche is imperfect...and so inevitably, there would always come an instance - like tonight, for example - when the walls of her tunnel vision would crack, and the noxious miasma of the past would come seeping back in.

During those times, Beth would experience a moment of absolute dislocation - the sensation that she was looking at herself from the outside; staring at her hardened and battle-scarred form as though she had never seen it before, and wondering, with no small amount of disbelief, where the last ten years had gone.

Ten years...it seemed like too long and yet not long enough. How was it that time could march across your face, but not across your heart? Torn flesh closed up and scabbed over, broken bones knitted together and resumed their former shape...but yet this wound inside her soul remained as raw and aching as it was the day it had been inflicted.

Ten years ago, the female Hunter had been just a regular girl from Buffalo, attending college on an athletic scholarship; her only concerns in life getting to practice on time and keeping her grades up. All that had changed one night when she had returned home to find the front door hanging open, and the corpses of her family strewn around the first floor.

Despite the shock that had blanketed her brain in that moment, the numbing sensation of her mind being stretched beyond its ability to comprehend, Beth could still recall every nuance of that stumbling tour through the downstairs - the blood splashed up onto the walls like splatters of red paint; the wood and tile floors slick with the same substance; her mother's body, splayed across the doorway to the kitchen, her throat a ragged red mess of torn tissue and muscle.

It had been in there that she had encountered the vampire, still in the process of draining her little sister. The eight-year-old's body had looked like a limp oversized doll in his embrace, and at the flicker of movement in the doorway, his eyes had lifted, boring into hers. Beth would always remember how _human_ they looked; the plethora of emotions glimmering in their depths - remorse, pleading, _disgust_ - emotions that belied the savagery of the scene, as though some part of him was acutely aware of how reprehensible his actions were.

Whatever human misgivings still lingering in the bloodsucker, however, hadn't been enough to prevent him from throwing her sister's corpse to the floor like a sack of garage and lunging at Beth with a feral hiss. However, he had not anticipated the amount of fight that the weightlifter and college-level archer was capable of putting up, and after a lengthy brawl around the kitchen that dislocated her shoulder and broke her nose, Beth eventually gained the upper hand, knocking the vampire senseless before decapitating him with the edge of a silver serving tray.

When it was over, she had sat there, panting for breath, her whole body ablaze with pain as she coldly assessed her situation. At the time, she still wasn't entirely convinced that what she had seen was _real_, but she knew enough to grasp that the police would never believe her - and in her battered condition, with her attacker's body already disintegrating to ash beneath her, it was entirely possible that they would peg _her_ as the perpetrator of the crime.

Beth didn't know what her parents' final thoughts had been, but she knew that they wouldn't want her rotting away in prison for a sin she hadn't committed. The only option, then, was to leave...and leave no trace.

So she had gotten up, grimacing as she popped her shoulder back into place, collecting food, money, her archery equipment, her father's handgun - anything she could carry with her. Then she had gone out to the garage, grabbed a couple canisters of gasoline, and systematically doused every room in the house with it, taking special care to soak the bodies of her parents and siblings. She had lit a match, dropped it on the floor, watched as the flame spread outward in a billowing sea of bluish-orange...and then she had left, never to return.

It was only when she was outside, watching from the cover of surrounding trees as flames consumed her childhood home, that Beth had finally broken down, sinking to her knees in the dirt as she sobbed hysterically. She felt as though she had died along with her family, and in a sense, she _had_ - the girl that she had once been was gone forever, leaving behind this deadened, damaged woman who only looked and sounded like her.

It had been on that night, in the orange glow of the inferno billowing up toward the night sky, that the future female Hunter had christened herself with a new surname - Phoenix, after the mythical bird - and just like the phoenix rose from its ashes to fly anew, so would she emerge from the ashes of her old life and head toward her new uncertain future.

She had met John about a year later - actually, "met" was the wrong word; she had been in a sticky situation, cornered and outnumbered, and he had rescued her. Even back then, his personality was still exactly the same, and they had initially clashed - but the lead Hunter must have seen something in her that was worth mentoring because he invited her to join his team, and over the course of the next several years, he fostered her raw potential, molding it into real deadly ability.

To Beth, it was no real surprise that they had eventually become lovers - their physical intimacy was merely an extension of the emotional bond they shared in battle. She didn't love John, nor he her - after all they had been through; the most either of them could summon up was a sort of affectionate attachment - but she liked to think that she knew him better than anyone else.

Deep down, however, the female Hunter knew that notion was a lie - she _didn't_ know John, any more than anyone else did. As much as she cared about him, she was scared of him at the same time; scared of the pain locked away behind his stoic facade that drove him to act the way he did; scared of the moments when she would look into his blue eyes and see a total stranger staring back at her.

Beth had accepted long ago the reality that she would most likely die in battle, but she liked to think, liked to _hope_, that she would live to see the day when she would no longer need to fight. John, on the other hand...it was as though he _couldn't_ stop; as though he _needed _this life in order to survive. Sometimes, the blond woman wondered if peace was the one thing her lover _really _feared - as though he had convinced himself that if this war ended, his existence would end right along with it.

This life...it wasn't what she would have chosen for herself, but it was the hand that fate had dealt her, and she had spent the last ten years gradually coming to terms with that realization. Like it or not, this fierce battle waged in the shadows was her _world..._but now, just like John, that world was crumbling.

Beth had grown accustomed to difficult situations; to circumstances becoming grim or utterly FUBAR...but _this_ was different. Ever since they had arrived in this city, things had been slowly but relentlessly spiraling out of control, upending belief, challenging notions she had spent the last decade clinging to. This whole situation with Mickie and Dave and Melina - none of it was playing out the way it was supposed to, and each day that it dragged on, it kept edging closer and closer toward that murky gray area; toward that dangerous realm of doubt where you were more likely to hesitate...and therefore more likely to die.

As a Hunter, the most you could ever hope for was to come out alive. But more and more, Beth was beginning to worry that the cost would be much more this time; that even if they emerged from this thing physically intact...they would still be irrevocably shattered.

The female Hunter ground to a halt, her mind reflexively snapping back to the present like a rubber band. She had learned, over time, to compartmentalize; to always keep one facet of her senses on the here and now, even while deep in thought - and it was that omnipresent consciousness that had just informed her...that she was being followed.

It was subtle - a soft scrape of shoes against concrete that every so often didn't quite match up to hers - but it was _there_, nonetheless. Beth's pale blue eyes narrowed even more, and she resumed walking. She didn't look back - _that_ would have been a dead giveaway that she was aware of her stalker's presence - but her pace was just a little bit more rapid than it had been a few seconds ago.

Up ahead of her loomed the dark mouth of a narrow alley; moving sideways, Beth ducked into it, pulling out her gun and aiming it back toward the street. Adrenaline was pumping through her body, shooting her heart rate up, but Beth forced herself to remain calm; to breathe through her nose and stay as silent and motionless as possible.

She waited, but nothing happened. No figure materialized at the mouth of the alley, and whatever presence she had previously sensed seemed to have evaporated into thin air. Moving lightly on the balls of her feet, the blond woman took two steps backward...and then abruptly froze as her back bumped into something solid that was far too warm and fleshy to be a wall.

The female Hunter immediately whirled around, her finger squeezing the trigger, but the figure behind her moved as well, swatting the gun away. The shot went wild; the gun flying out of Beth's hands and clattering against the pavement. There was no room in the cramped space to go for her bow, so the blond woman balled her hand up into a fist, throwing a wild punch.

Once again, however, the figure was too fast for her - he caught her fist easily and Beth felt a painful shudder travel through her body; she felt as though she had just punched a concrete wall. His fingers closed over her fist, and he whipped her around, shoving her against the wall and wrenching her arm up behind her back.

Beth struggled violently. The figure was twisting her bad arm - the one Melina had broken four years ago - and it was taking every ounce of willpower she had not to scream in pain. She felt him lean closer, felt his hot breath wash over her ear, and the female Hunter braced herself for the worst...but instead of the stinging agony of fangs in her throat, she heard a voice, low and hoarse with impatience and emotion: "Hold _still_, will you? I'm not going to hurt you-"

"Like _hell_!" the blond woman spat as she continued to squirm around. "Get off _me_-" All at once, she stopped, comprehension crashing over her. She _knew_ that voice. "Wait a minute..._Dave_?" Beth tried to look over her shoulder, but the uncomfortable positioning of her arm prevented her from doing so. "Is that _you_?"

The figure said nothing. A minute crawled by, then two, and then Beth felt the vampire's grip suddenly loosen; heard his footfalls as he stepped back to give her room. The female Hunter didn't move at first; from her limited vantage point, she could see the faint glimmer of metal where her gun had landed. Beth tensed, then abruptly dived toward the weapon, snatching it off the ground and flipping her body around in one fluid motion. She squared her sights on the big man, her finger tensing on the trigger-

And then she stopped.

Dave...he wasn't attacking, wasn't running away, wasn't even raising his arms to defend himself - instead, he stared back at the blond woman with what seemed like resignation and acceptance. And though it was difficult to make it out in the dim light, the _look_ on his _face_...

Beth knew that look; it was the same way she felt every time she woke up to a new day - the mixture of despair and awareness that the last ten years had actually happened; that everyone she loved was dead and that every day that followed would be exactly the same as this one: cold, dark, and empty.

The female Hunter had seen that look on every single member of the team; had glimpsed it in the eyes of every other Hunter she had crossed paths with...but she had never thought that she would ever see it etched into the features of a vamp. It was that look, more than anything else, that prevented her from shooting; that instead compelled her to blurt out: "What do you want?"

Dave stared back at her for a moment or two, perhaps scrutinizing her just as thoroughly as she was him, before eventually replying: "I just want to talk to you." His voice was forced and thick, as though he was on the verge of breaking down. "Keep...keep the gun on me if it makes you feel better, but _please_, hear me out."

Beth tilted her chin up slightly. "Why?" she retorted, her tone faintly challenging.

There was a long pause, and she saw the vampire's shoulders shift up and down in a heavy sigh. "Believe it or not..." There was a sort of bitter humor in his voice, as though he couldn't help but appreciate the irony. "...I need your help."

An even longer hesitation followed his request. Beth could barely think; her mind was racing. Part of her - the hardened warrior _Hunter _part - was convinced that it was a trap, that it couldn't be anything _other_ than a trap, and she would be best served by shooting now and dispensing with any further questions. Hell, if she were _John_, she wouldn't even be having this conversation; by now, the lead Hunter would have put two bullets in the big man's head and been done with it-

But she _wasn't _John...and perhaps _that_ was the reason she was having this debate with herself. She shared her bed with the lead Hunter, along with what remained of her heart...but she didn't share his convictions; even after almost ten years, she still couldn't bring herself to view the world the way he did.

_Hope_ - that was the one thing that separated them; that had _always_ divided them. John no longer believed in its existence, while Beth stubbornly remained convinced of its actuality. She had always wondered if she was childish for doing so...but now she was beginning to think that she was actually the wiser one.

Maybe it was time to trust in something larger than herself. Maybe...the only way to counteract this madness...was to _join_ it.

Beth swallowed hard. Slowly, she relaxed her finger on the trigger. "You've got five minutes," the blond woman whispered. "_Go_."

* * *

"I'll _kill _him!"

Melina's furious screams echoed off the walls of the abandoned fire-gutted building, drowning out the distant rumble of thunder emanating from outside. Both Miz and Morrison immediately tensed, listening hard in case the female vampire's screeching had attracted any unwanted attention, but the only noise that greeted them was the distant yelp of a barking dog.

After fleeing from the Hunters at the LaBell Clinic, the three of them had detoured here, mainly because the arrow in Melina's calf was slowing her down considerably. Morrison was currently on his knees trying to remove said projectile - a task being made even more difficult by the fact that the female vampire had not stopped shrieking since they had arrived.

As though to belie this, Melina abruptly fell silent. The brown-haired vampire breathed a sigh of relief, finally able to focus on the task at hand, but just as he put his hand on the arrow to delicately ease it out of the wound, Melina's high-heeled boot slammed into the side of his head, knocking him to the ground. "Don't bother," the female vampire snarled. "I'll do it myself."

Gritting her teeth, she grabbed hold of the shaft, yanking the barbed projectile up and out of her leg with a sickening juicy _pop_. The fiberglass shaft snapped easily in her powerful grip, and Melina impatiently tossed it away, focusing her vengeful gaze on Miz. "Give me your tie."

The mohawked vampire followed her line of sight, running both hands protectively over the burgundy accessory. "Come on, Mel..." Miz answered, his tone petulant. "This is _silk_-"

"_I said give me your fucking tie_!" Melina's dark eyes flashed red in the darkness, and the mohawked vampire hastily unknotted the garment, pulling it off and thrusting it toward her. The female vampire grabbed the tie, wrapping it around her wounded calf and pulling it tight in a makeshift tourniquet. That accomplished, she gingerly crossed that leg over the uninjured one, staring hard at her pets with undisguised scorn. "_Well...that_ was a complete fucking disaster."

Neither one of the boys said anything; sometimes, even _Miz_ knew when to shut his mouth. Melina drew in a deep breath, reaching up to deliberately flick a loose tendril of hair back from her face. "_Please_ tell me that while you were downstairs having some fun, you managed to find _some_ trace of that worthless junkie bitch."

Miz and Morrison quickly shot each other a look, clearly weighing the cost of a lie versus the truth. Gradually, the brown-haired vampire heaved a sigh, unable to meet her gaze as he slowly shook his head. "No...we didn't."

"That _fuck_!" Enraged, Melina slammed her fists down. The female vampire was perched on a pile of steel beams; her hands left deep dents in their surface. Melina, however, took no notice; she was too busy ranting. "He _lied _to me! He _set me up_! He sent to that place _knowing_ that _she_ wouldn't be there, but Cena _would_!"

The female vampire hopped down off the support beams, balancing unsteadily on her good leg. "He knows where she is." Her voice was soft, and almost dangerously calculating, her dark eyes narrowing to thoughtful slits. "He knows where she _really _is - otherwise, he wouldn't have lied to me-"

"So what are you going to do?" Morrison instantly shot a horrified look in Miz's direction, but the female vampire was too wrapped up in thoughts of her imminent revenge to really be bothered by the fact that one of her pets had spoken out of turn.

Melina shrugged. "It's too late to do anything more tonight - dawn is less than an hour away - but _tomorrow_...I'm going back there and dealing with him _personally_."

Miz rubbed his hands together gleefully in anticipation. "Oh, man," the mohawked vampire crowed. "I can't wait to see the look on that guy's face-"

"You _won't_," Melina interrupted sharply. She fixed her pets with a look that was part sweetness, part steel. "_Neither_ of you will. The two of you have fucked things up enough as it - tomorrow, I'm going _alone_, and if I so much as _smell_ either one of you while I'm there, there will be some _serious consequences_."

A sullen silence followed her decree, and the other two vampires exchanged another coded look. Melina crossed her arms over her ample chest, her dark eyes darting from one to the other. "_Well_?" she eventually demanded. "What is it?" She gestured impatiently with one slender hand. "Come on - _spit it out_."

Her two pets immediately looked away, shuffling their feet awkwardly, neither one of them wanting to be the first one to speak. Gradually, Morrison stepped up to the plate. "Nothing, Mel; it's just-" The brown-haired vampire held out both hands in a beseeching gesture. "-with all this shit that's going down - this dude Randy, _Hunters_ - maybe we'd be better off just leaving-"

"Yeah!" his partner chimed in enthusiastically. "Forget about that pussy Dave and that human bitch - let's blow this popsicle stand and go someplace _exciting_: L.A., Vegas, Miami! I mean, come _on_!" Miz shrugged; the gesture bordered on condescending. "Don't tell me that Dave is actually _worth_ all this aggravation."

The female vampire said nothing at first; only stared back at them with an unreadable expression. After several long minutes of pondering, she stirred, limping forward and pausing right in front of them. She fixed each member of the pair with a long steady look. "So...is this what _both _of you think?"

The two vampires looked at each other, then back at her, nodding almost in unison. "Yeah, pretty much," Miz replied, his shoulders lifting in another nonchalant shrug.

Melina nodded thoughtfully. "I see..." Without warning, her hands shot out, her fingers latching onto each of their crotches, sinking her nails in and twisting sharply.

Both Miz and Morrison let out yelps that were several octaves above their normal ranges, doubling over in pain. Melina didn't loosen her grip one iota; merely regarded both of them with a countenance of pure spite and malevolence. "Now you listen to me, you little _bastards_," the female vampire snarled, her voice a sibilant hiss. "I would have thought, after three years, that you would have learned by now, but _clearly_ you _haven't_, so I'll _remind_ you - _no one_ tells me what to do. Not _you_, not _Dave_..._nobody_."

Without relaxing the pressure, she leaned closer, bending down over her mewling pets. "I don't care if every Hunter in the known _world _shows up here - I'm not _leaving_ until I _find_ those two and tear them apart, and _you're_-" Melina punctuated the word with another violent twist. "-going to help me do it."

The female vampire paused for a moment. "And if you _don't_...I will rip each and every single appendage from your bodies starting with _these_!" She twisted again, this time evoking shrill soprano-like wails from the two vampires. Melina gave them another measured look, her dark eyes blazing with malicious fire, before abruptly releasing her grip.

Miz and Morrison instantly slumped to the ground, moaning and clutching their bruised groins with both hands. Their sire stared down at them with thinly veiled contempt. "I don't want to have this discussion again." Whirling around, she limped toward the exit, tossing her blond-streaked hair over her shoulders and pulling her hood up. "I'm going home to take a Vicodin and a hot bath - I better not hear a _peep_ out of either one of you until tomorrow night." Without offering a farewell, she shoved aside the clear plastic covering the doorway, disappearing out into the night.

The thunder rumbled again, louder this time, as drops of rain began to splatter against the plastic sheets. With effort, Morrison lifted his head up, meeting Miz's eyes in the darkness. Just like all of their other looks, this one required no telepathy in order to be conveyed - it was a sentiment that they hadn't expressed in three years; one which, just like now, had come on the heels of extreme pain inflicted by a beautiful woman.

_This bitch is crazy..._

* * *

Rain poured down on the abandoned storage lot's rows of rectangular buildings. Inside the Hunters' base, save for the drum-like cacophony of raindrops hitting the concrete roof, it was utterly quiet. Maria sat amidst her bank of computer equipment, a mug of hot tea cupped in both hands, watching the tiled arrangement of security camera feeds on one of the monitors. A few feet away, at the workbench, Jeff used a soldering iron to attach wiring to a device of unknown purpose, a pair of safety goggles covering his emerald irises.

They both jumped as one of the control panels suddenly emitted a loud shrill beep. Maria quickly set down her tea, looking toward the panel in question - a row of lights labeled with each team member's name. The one labelled "CENA" was glowing bright green.

The redhead shot a glance back toward her rainbow-haired paramour, an affectionate smile touching her lips. "Boss Man's back - look busy!"

Jeff looked up from his work, his mouth curling up in a wry grin. "Damn - and here I was, about to call it quits and play some Super Mario."

Maria giggled, turning back toward her monitor, watching as the black hooded figure out on the lot crossed from camera view to camera view, eventually stopping at the entrance to the base. A second later, the lead Hunter's voice reverberated through the speakers, crisp and unemotional as always. "Cena!"

The redhead immediately pressed a switch; there was a low rumble of machinery, and the figure ducked out of view on the computer screen. Maria flicked the switch in the opposite direction and the metal door closed with a muffled _boom_ just as Cena walked through the entranceway.

The other two Hunters instantly rose to their feet, Jeff switching off the soldering iron and removing his safety goggle. Water dripped off the edge of Cena's hood, puddling around his booted feet; pushing it back, he shrugged off the long black coat, tossing it onto a nearby chair, wiping the excess water from his face with both hands. "It's raining hard as _fuck_ out there."

The lead Hunter paused, as he noticed that both of his subordinates were staring at him expectantly. He looked from one to the other, the look in his blue eyes bordering on impatient. "What?"

Maria and Jeff quickly exchanged a look, before the redhead hesitantly cleared her throat. "I...I mean, _we_...saw that there was a distress call from the clinic." Another meaningful glance, another awkward cough. "What...what happened?"

Cena's features tightened slightly at the query. "Bryan's all right - he's pretty banged-up, but he'll pull through." He paused, just a few seconds too long, his gaze shifting so that it no longer met theirs. "But...Gail...we got there too late."

Maria gasped, her hand stealing up to cover her mouth, tears brimming in her emerald irises. Jeff's face crumpled in pain, and he sagged back down onto his stool, tossing his goggles onto the table. "Shit..." was all he was able to say, his voice weak and stunned.

Cena's face didn't change, nor did his azure irises reveal even a hint of what he was really thinking. "I know this sucks," the lead Hunter gradually replied. "But we've got bigger things to worry about."

At this, Jeff looked up, his expression full of outraged disbelief. "_Bigger things_?" the rainbow-haired man echoed incredulously. "How can you-"

"It was Melina." Cena interrupted brusquely. At the mention of the female vampire's name, Jeff's mouth snapped shut, both he and Maria staring at their leader with considerably more interest. The lead Hunter went on, pausing only a second before dropping the other half of his bombshell: "She was looking for Mickie."

This time, the gasp was simultaneous; Jeff's "_What_?" almost drowning out Maria's "No way!" The rainbow-haired man rose to his feet, shaking his head as though trying to knock loose a wave of dizziness. "Did I hear that right?" He peered hard at his leader, as though waiting expectantly for the punch line. "That...doesn't make any _sense_-"

"Yeah, well, you're not the only one who thinks that," the lead Hunter interjected tersely, straightening up and striding across the room. He stopped at the sleeping area, looking around before shooting a questioning glance back toward Jeff. "Where's Beth?"

The two other Hunters exchanged another look, both of them shrugging in unison. "She called in about twenty minutes ago," Maria eventually ventured. "She said she was finishing up her patrol." The redhead shrugged again. "I assume she's on her way back here."

Cena was about to reply, when another shrill beep - identical to the first - cut through the air. Maria glanced at the control panel; the light labelled "PHOENIX" had just lit up. Relief instantly flooded the redhead's countenance. "Speak of the devil - I _told_ you she was on her way back..." Her high-pitched voice suddenly faltered as something on the screen caught her eye. "...here."

Maria leaned forward, her voice trailing off into silence, her delicate features crinkling in concern as she peered closely at the monitor. "Wait...this can't be right-"

"What do you see?" In a flash, Cena had crossed the distance to the computer area, putting one hand on the back of the chair as he leaned down over Maria's shoulder. The redhead didn't reply; merely pointed at the screen - at the tiled view of camera feeds.

The cameras they had installed were equipped with night vision, converting what would have been darkness into shades of green. The pouring rain obscured their view somewhat, but even through the misty haze of falling moisture, the lead Hunter had no trouble picking out Beth's solidly-built form...as well as that of the big man walking a few steps behind her.

Cena's hand abruptly clenched the back of the chair, so hard that Maria heard the tough plastic _crack_. The lead Hunter's expression was flinty; his lips barely moved, spitting out only one word. "_Dave_."

Maria's green eyes bulged in astonishment. "That _can't_ be - how'd he get in..." Her voice trailed off as she realized that the answer to _that_ query was fairly obvious. The redhead swallowed hard, shooting a tentative glance in Cena's direction. "W-what should I do?"

The lead Hunter's jaw twitched. "_Nothing_." His gaze was still glued to the computer monitor; his tone almost distracted, as though Maria was merely an afterthought. "You follow procedure, like _always_. As soon as Beth gets here, we'll know _exactly_ what we need to do."

The redhead gulped again, her emerald irises wide and doe-like. On the screen, Beth stopped in front of the entrance door, Dave grinding to a halt as well. The female Hunter tilted her face up, shielding her eyes against the pouring rain, peering up into the camera lens as though she was staring into the faces of her watching teammates. A collective hush fell over the room, as everyone held their breath, waiting to see what the blond woman would do next...

Beth opened her mouth, barking out one clipped word: "_Phoenix_!"

Maria let her breath out in one long sigh, her lithe body sagging in relief. With one hand, she reached for the door switch - but before her fingers could touch, Cena grabbed her wrist, preventing her from doing so. The redhead looked at her leader in shock, her mouth dropping open. "What are you _doing_?" she managed to sputter. "I-I'm going to let her in-"

"No, you're not," the lead Hunter interrupted harshly, cutting her off. His features were like a mask - rigid, lifeless, devoid of emotion or empathy - his blue eyes just as stark.

Maria's lips moved soundlessly as she slowly shook her head. "But...but I don't _understand_! Beth's not in danger; she used the _safe_ word-"

"I don't care," Cena's tone was as cold and merciless as death itself. "You're _not_ letting her in - not with that walking hunk of steroids out there."

On the screen, Beth shifted uncomfortably on the balls of her feet, shooting a glance back at the vampire behind her before looking up at the camera once more. "_Phoenix_!" Her voice was louder than it had been before, and just a touch more uncertain.

Cena didn't move; all of his focus remained on the redhead, his azure irises boring into her green ones as though he was trying to intimidate her with their sheer intensity. "Listen to me, _Kanellis_," the lead Hunter growled through gritted teeth. Immediately, Maria froze - whenever Cena used her last name, it was always the final warning; the "or else" coda to his implied threat. The blue-eyed man went on. "_I'm _in charge, and _you_ are going to do what _I _tell you-"

The redhead swallowed hard. "I know I am," she whispered. As she spoke, a steely light crept into her emerald gaze. "And what _you_ told me to do...was to follow procedure." And before Cena could ask what she meant by that, Maria groped out with her other hand, finding the door switch and pushing it all the way down. Instantly, the dull roar of machinery resonated through the rectangular space.

Cena's face flushed with rage, and for one terrifying second, the computer whiz was certain that he was going to hit her. But instead, the lead Hunter released her wrist, practically throwing it back toward her, whirling around on his heel and storming toward the entranceway.

The lead Hunter unholstered one of his guns, holding it down at his side. "Un-fucking-believable..." he muttered to himself. With his thumb, he drew the hammer back. "If you want something done, you have to fucking _do it yourself_-"

* * *

Dave jumped at the sudden _screech_ of metal against metal, watching with a sort of dull fascination as the wide segmented barrier ratcheted upward. The door was not even halfway up, however, before a figure came barreling out of the space within, forcing both the vampire and Beth to back up.

The drenching rain soaked Cena almost immediately. His black t-shirt and fatigues clung to his muscular frame; his close-cropped hair was plastered to his skull. Despite the water beating down on him, however, the lead Hunter's countenance was tight with fury; his arm rigid and steady as he lifted it up to aim his gun at Dave.

The big man froze, but Beth didn't; closing the distance between her and Cena, she grabbed the gun with both hands, trying to pull it down and away from the vampire. Her voice was low and frantic: "John, _don't_-"

"Out of the way, Beth!" With one brutal motion, the lead Hunter impatiently shoved the blond woman aside, knocking her to the ground as she strode by her. By now, Maria and Jeff had migrated out to the entranceway; the redhead screamed when she saw Beth fall, the rainbow-haired man's grip on her arms the only thing preventing from running to her aid.

Cena didn't stop; didn't even glance back to see if the female Hunter was all right - he was too focused on the vampire. A few paces more brought him face-to-face with Dave. Without breaking motion, the lead Hunter balled his hand up into a fist, his knuckles catching the big man right in the jaw.

The blow stunned Dave, knocking him down to one knee. He teetered slightly, trying to regain his balance. The rain was in his eyes; he looked up...and found himself staring into the muzzle of the gun. Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the water beading off the silvery metal; the words: _FEAR LESS..._

Dave lifted his gaze, looking from the gun to the face of the man holding it. Lightning flared again, irradiating Cena's features, and the vampire was struck by how utterly _human_ he looked. Cena was a machine; despite the hatred and the anguish that had to exist in him, he never let those feelings bubble up to the visible surface. Now, however...there was nothing _but_ the pain, the agony, the hatred, the fear - it was as though all rationality and logic had been swept aside, leaving only the basest and most primal of instincts...the need for _revenge_.

Seconds crept by, and neither one of them moved. Gradually, Dave drew in a deep shuddering breath, his dark eyes never wavering from Cena's icy blue ones. "Well?" the vampire whispered hoarsely. "_What are you waiting for_?"

Cena opened his mouth to respond - and then froze as he felt the cold muzzle of a gun dig into the back of his head, followed by Beth's curt voice: "Don't do it, John. If you shoot him...I'll shoot you."

Despite the warning, the lead Hunter made no move to lower his weapon. He slid his eyes to the side, trying to see Beth even though she was directly behind him. A bitter humorless smile bloomed on his smile, and he shook his head incrementally. "I never thought that _you'd_ be the one to betray me, Phoenix."

"I'm _not_ betraying you!" Beth's clothes were stained with dirt where she had fallen; her fair hair streaked with mud and clinging to her face in wet tendrils. She gripped the gun with both hands, her arms trembling only slightly. "Believe me, I don't _want_ to do this - but I _will_ if you force me."

Cena let out a harsh chuckle. "You giving me an ultimatum?"

"_No_," the female Hunter shot back. "I'm giving you a _choice_." She pressed the gun even tighter against her lover's head. "You can either shoot first and ask questions later, like you _always do_ - or you can do it in reverse order this time." Now the blond woman shook her head. "John, all I'm asking you to do is _listen_-"

For a moment, Cena flinched as memory momentarily overtook him - that shithole apartment, the gun in his hand, Dave kneeling on the floor, blood seeping from his shoulder wound...and above it all, the keening wail of Mickie's voice-

_John, please, I'm begging you to listen..._

The lead Hunter abruptly shook his head, dispelling the recollection. "I'm _through_ listening." he muttered through clenched teeth.

"Because that's not what you do, huh?" Beth retorted almost mockingly. "You only know how to tear it down - you've got no idea how to build it back up." She shook her head again. "I used to think like you. Hell, I used to _envy_ you. I used to believe that the reason you saw the world in such clear shades of black and white was because you were a _true_ warrior...but _now_...I know that you do it because it's the only way you can live with yourself."

The blond woman gulped down another breath. "You _have_ to think of it as us versus them - otherwise, you might start to doubt yourself. You might start to wonder if some of the ones you killed didn't deserve to die-"

"Of _course_ they deserved to die!" Cena interrupted, the words tearing out of his mouth in a furious roar; his expression a mixture of grief and fury. "They don't deserve to live! They're _animals_! They're _all animals_!" He turned his head slightly, trying to focus his gaze on the female Hunter. "And don't forget, _Phoenix_ - vampires killed _your_ family-"

"_One_!" Beth screamed, ramming the muzzle of the gun against Cena's skin. "_One _vampire! _One_ pathetic _newborn_ who was probably too hungry and desperate to control himself! If it had been one _human_ who had killed them, we wouldn't even be having this argument!"

The blond woman paused to draw in a ragged breath. "John, I know what you believe, what part of me still _wants _to believe_..._but what if we're _wrong_? What if they're not _all_ bad - what if, just like us, they just want to _survive_?" She paused for a moment. "What will you do to Mickie when she turns? Are you just going to forget about what you promised Rob? Are you going to make her beg for her _life_, like I've seen you do-"

"Shut up..." the lead Hunter whispered fiercely.

Beth, however, was relentless. "And what about her baby? Would you actually _kill_ a _mother_ in front of her own child-"

"I said _shut up_!" Cena whipped around, bringing the gun with him, his whole body trembling as he jammed the pistol in Beth's face. The female Hunter gasped, her pale blue eyes wide and glued to the barrel of the weapon. Cena didn't seem to notice; his gaze was entirely _elsewhere_, and in the back of her mind, Beth remembered thinking that she had finally unearthed some tiny corner of the truth - that, after nine years, she had finally trod upon the oozing raw node of pain that had spawned the Hunter standing in front of her.

Cena's voice was just as detached as his stare; it was as though he was totally removed from this situation. "_You have_..._no idea_...what I'm _capable _of-"

"Randy's got Mickie."

Dave's voice - so quiet, so defeated, so _unexpected_ - was nevertheless enough to silence the lead Hunter's accusation. The vampire bowed his head, water dripping from his sharply-hewn features as he stared at the muddy ground. "She was with _me_...I _left_ - I _never_ should have left_-_"

The big man sucked in a breath that was almost a sob. "He _kidnapped _her, and I wasn't even there to stop it-"

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Cena shot back after a long moment had passed. Even though he was addressing the vampire, his focus remained on Beth. "_Prove it_."

At first, all that could be hear was the steady _drip_ of rain. Finally, Beth stirred, lowering her gun and shoving it back into its holster. With her other hand, she unsnapped a pouch on the other side of her gun belt, pulling out a handkerchief-swathed bundle. Unfolding the cloth, she shoved it into Cena's face. "_This_ proof enough for you?" the blond woman remarked viciously.

The lead Hunter turned away, closing his eyes; in the harsh blue-white flicker of lightning, Mickie's severed finger looked like a limp pale worm. "All right, _all right_ - you've made your point!" he retorted, shoving the bundle away.

"He's got her at the Viper's Pit," Dave's tone was still soft, still utterly lost. "I _know _that she is - he _made sure _of that. He _wants_ me to come looking for her, he _knows_ I'll do _anything_ to find her...because he _knows_ that there's no way I can get her out of there on my own."

The vampire lifted his head, water streaming down his face like tears. "_Help me_. Help me _get her back_. I don't _care_ what you do to me afterward - just help me _save her_-"

"_Save her_?" Cena reiterated mockingly. "Because you _love_ _her_, right?" He turned, finally fixing his stony blue gaze on the kneeling big man. "Give me one, _one_, good reason why I should even _listen _to you!"

Dave met his eyes without flinching; his voice, when he spoke, was just as measured: "If you help me get her back...I'll give you Melina."

His words had the effect he had hoped for; the lead Hunter tensed, undisguised interest flickering across his emotionless expression. Dave continued. "That's what you want, isn't it? I can tell you where to find her - I can even tell all I know about those two new fuckbuddies of hers-

His flow of words, so rapid a moment ago, faltered away into silence. The big man hung his head once more, tears stinging his eyes. "I don't _care_ about what happens to me - just what happens to _her_! Right now...she's alone, she's _scared_, she's _pregnant_, she's _dying_-" Dave sucked in a sob, his face briefly twisting in pain. "And now that Randy's got her...she'll slip away even faster."

He looked up, staring at his nemesis without fear, without intimidation. "You _promised _to protect her. Would you really let her _die_...just to prove you're _right_?"

An indeterminable amount of time crept by, as seemingly ceaseless as the rain. Finally, with a heavy sigh, Cena lowered his gun, shoving it back into his holster, striding over to the kneeling vampire, his combat boots squelching loudly in the mud. Dropping down, he grabbed Dave by the back of the neck, jamming his face into the big man's. His voice was a frigid whisper. "Look at me," the lead Hunter commanded. His blue eyes were like chips of ice. "_This_...changes nothing. Understand? You and me - we're not _friends_, we're not _allies_. Once this is over and our business is concluded, things go back to the way they were. Do you _hear_ me?"

The vampire nodded solemnly. "I hear you."

"Good," As he spoke, Cena reached toward his belt, unsnapping something. Dave couldn't quite make it out; it didn't look like a gun. The lead Hunter went on. "Now...despite our little arrangement...I'm still not exactly _comfortable_ with the idea of a bloodsucker traipsing through my base - so I'm going to warn you right now: _this_...is probably going to smart a little bit."

Dave started to ask what exactly he meant by that, but then the barbs of the stun gun dug into his neck, and he felt a strange overwhelming sensation, like one enormous muscle cramp, swarm over his entire body.

And for the second time that night, the vampire lapsed into unconsciousness.


	34. Chapter 34: All That Remains

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! This was a bit of a marathon for me; I can't remember the last time I cranked a chapter out this fast. As for the chapter itself...I like it and I don't. I think it's generally okay, but it's definitely not my best. Hopefully, you'll indulge this momentary slippage and bear with me. ENJOY! PEACE!**

**I want to thank **Shandy777 **for coming up with the scene in this chapter, and she knows exactly which one I'm talking about! I love our late-night Twitter conversations about Randy and how he and Melina are the couple I SHOULD have focused this story around. I also want to thank **Nastygrl25 **for generally just being awesome and putting up with my moodiness - love ya, Rosie!**

**Thank you to **Esha Napoleon, BigRedMachineUK, Shandy777, AprilGilbert1996, Girl on Fire, Nastygrl25, **and **Animal Luvr 4 Life **for reviewing the last chapter! Love yas! HUGS!**

* * *

Chapter 33: All That Remains

"_And all that remains are the bars to confine me/To the past I can't escape..." - Fozzy, "All That Remains"_

_When she opened her eyes, all she could see was darkness._

_ The first thought that popped into Mickie's weak, feverish brain was that she had somehow been stricken blind; that her vision had been stolen from her and the images she had seen during that nightmarish hell she had just emerged from were nothing more than the last few fleeting memories of sight._

_ However, as the seconds crept by and she eased further and further into consciousness, her eyes adjusted and gradually, blurry lines and contours began to emerge and coalesce out of the gloom. She was in a room; a small, dim room, but a room nonetheless. There were no lights - in fact, as best as she could ascertain, there were no windows at all. She could feel the lumpy surface of a mattress beneath her shoulder blades, but even in her disoriented state, the brunette knew that she wasn't in her bed - the positioning was all wrong, and besides, this place not only didn't look like her room, it didn't FEEL like her room, either. _

_ This place - it felt...wrong...somehow; like a prison...or a tomb._

_ Mickie shifted a little, and that was when she felt it - the PAIN; intense, overwhelming, and all-consuming. It wasn't just her head or her neck or her chest that hurt; it was EVERYTHING, as though her body had become one giant exposed wound, making even the smallest of air molecules seem as sharp and stinging as needles._

_ The brunette groaned softly. She wasn't sure where she was, or how she had gotten here, or how long she had been here - but she had to get home. That, or at the very least get to a phone and call Candice, who was probably worried sick-_

_ **Candice...**_

_ At the thought of her best friend, Mickie felt something shift within her, like a door opening a crack, revealing the first glimpse of a truth that her mind, probably in the throes of shock, had shoved away in order to protect itself. The brunette began to tremble, an involuntary whimper escaping her throat. Already, she wanted to slam that door closed; to lock it and throw away the key forever...because the reality of what lurked behind it, it was unspeakable-_

_ **"I love it when they beg..." **_

_-it was beyond comprehension-_

_ **"Fight all you want to...Maybe you'll even like it..."**_

_-and once it was out in the light, once the true horror of its physiognomy was there for her to behold-_

_ **"I want this bitch to remember me..."**_

_-it would shatter her beyond repair._

_ The brunette felt a swelling sensation inside her chest, like the gentle curve of a wave that rises and gains mass as it draws nearer and nearer to shore. In the three years that would follow, she would always remember that last moment of bewildered amnesia - that final evanescent instant before the wave of awareness and comprehension broke over her...and know that it was the moment her innocence truly ended._

_ Then it broke, and the full monstrosity of what had happened to her crashed into her mind like a rock through a pane of glass - the alley, Candice's severed head in the pool of light, red eyes in the darkness, those two men, that GIRL-_

_ Mickie felt her body tremble and twitch as the complete recollection of the attack washed over her - every thrust, every bite, every scratch - bombarding her with sensory overload; stretching her already-overwrought mind to the breaking point and threatening to snap her few remaining threads of sanity. _

_ The brunette opened her mouth to wail...and then froze as a new, unfamiliar voice floated up out of the darkness: _

_ "I wouldn't do that if I were you."_

_ Mickie was so startled that she obeyed, snapping her lips closed reflexively. Even though her eyes had more or less adjusted, she couldn't see anything at first, and was about to chalk the voice up as just another fevered hallucination. But then, just as the shape of the room had, the voice's owner materialized out of the gloom, line by line, forming a picture of a man._

_ He was tall, leanly muscular, tattooed arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall...and just like the room itself, he exuded this sense of utter wrongness. Mickie didn't know how to describe it - the sensation itself was like when your skin involuntarily contracts into gooseflesh. Perhaps it was the fact that, even in the dimness, she could still feel his eyes on her. Or perhaps it was the way he seemed to be staring at her - with a sort of detached fascination. _

_ The man didn't stir; Mickie couldn't even see his lips move as he spoke again: "I already have my doubts about the guy who stitched you up - there's no telling what'll happen to your face now if you start bawling like a bitch."_

_ As he spoke, the brunette became aware of how oddly taut her face felt, as though the skin across her features had been inexplicably pulled tight in places. Another memory crashed over her - fingernails sinking into her skin, the blinding warmth of her own blood as it streamed into her eyes, the overwhelming pain and the voice that accompanied it-_

_ **"Ooh! THAT'S gonna leave a mark!"**_

_Mickie could feel the morbid curiosity surging up inside her - the desire to touch her face and ascertain with her own fingertips just how bad the damage was - but she tamped it down, focusing all of her energy instead on licking her cracked dry lips; on forcing the words out in a thin, barely audible whisper: "Where...where am I?"_

_ The man cocked his head to the side, the movement strangely snake-like in the faint light. "That's not important." He paused, and Mickie could sense a deliberateness in his hesitation. "But if you're worried about vamps coming after you again...they're not going to find you here."_

_ "Vamps?" Mickie licked her lips again. "I don't...understand-"_

_ "Vampires." the man interrupted brusquely, his tone faintly derisive, as though he was explaining a simple concept to a slow child. _

_ The brunette shook her head, and instantly wished that she hadn't - the slight motion sent white-hot rivulets of pain shooting up and down her face, head, and neck. "That's not..." she croaked. "Vampires...aren't real-"_

_ "Really?" There was something unsettling about the man's response - about the way he drawled out that one word in such a flat tone of voice. In the darkness, Mickie saw his face twitch, and somehow got the sense that he was smiling. "I hate to point out the obvious...but you've been sadly misinformed."_

_ Even in her exhausted and barely conscious state, Mickie got the impression that he was toying with her; that he was getting off on answering her queries in the most scornful and terse way possible. As though he had detected her comprehension, the man straightened up, uncrossing his arms. "I'll be back later to check on you." His tone of voice, just like his body language, indicated dismissal - he was bored with her, and moving on to something more entertaining. "I would recommend that you get some sleep - you're going to need it." _

_ He crossed the room, where a thin yellow rectangular outline indicated a doorway. He had just opened the door a crack when the brunette found her voice again. "Wait!"_

_ The man turned, looking back at her, and in the depths of her mind, Mickie found herself wishing that she had never said anything; that she had just let him depart without ever seeing his face...because there was nothing in that handsome countenance but pure emptiness. _

_ The brunette felt a scream rising in her chest, and it was only with the most profound effort that she was able to force it down, spitting out her question in a voice that quavered with involuntary horror. "Who...who ARE you?"_

_ The man smiled, and this time, Mickie nearly DID scream - it would have been less terrifying staring at a grinning skull. And at that moment, it occurred to her - the thought would be quickly engulfed by her subconscious, and wouldn't emerge until several months later, when the nightmare would TRULY begin - that she would have been much better off dying in that alley._

_ "I'm Randy...and that's all you'll EVER need to know..."_

* * *

"Just like old times, huh, Mick?"

Randy's contemptuous tone dug into the scarred brunette's ear like the business end of a power drill, yanking her from her semi-conscious memories of the past. Mickie slowly opened her eyes.

In a way, it was like deja vu all over again - she was back in that room, on that bed, while Randy watched her from the shadows - but at the same time, it _wasn't_. First of all, unlike three years ago, Mickie knew _exactly_ where she was this time - in that basement area of the Viper's Pit accessible only through Randy's office. Even after all this time, she still didn't know _what_ he used this room for...and truthfully, she didn't _want_ to.

Second, her arms - instead of lying limply at her sides - were suspended up over her head. The scarred brunette could feel cold metal biting into her wrists, and an experimental shake confirmed her suspicions - that she was handcuffed to the bars of the bed. Mickie shook her wrists again, harder this time, but it was useless - the cuffs were ratcheted tight, and Randy had used a separate pair for each hand, chaining her arms to either side of the bed frame so she couldn't get any sort of leverage.

The scarred brunette sagged back against the pillow, her gaze traveling to the far corner of the room. The Viper's Pit owner was standing in precisely the same spot he had three years ago, his arms crossed over his chest in exactly the same manner. He was staring at her, and Mickie wished fervently that she could go back to being as blind in the dark as any other human being...because she would have given _anything_ not to be able to see the look on Randy's face.

The brunette swallowed hard; there was a bitter ashy taste in her mouth. "Where's Dave?" Her voice, though weak and quavery, held no trace of fear - she was grateful for that.

The blue-eyed man shrugged noncommittally. "No clue...but I expect him around here any time now - I left a message that even a big dumb animal like _him_ should be able to understand." Randy paused, his eyes slightly upward slightly. Mickie followed his line of sight, twisting her head around toward her handcuffed left hand. Where there had previously been five digits, there were now only four, a thick white bandage covering the stump where her index finger had been.

The brunette stared at the wound, feeling an odd sense of disconnect. She couldn't remember the actual blow itself - only the pain that had driven her from unconsciousness, shortly before another punch from Randy had sent her tumbling back there - and even now, staring at her disfigured hand, knowing that it belonged to her...she still couldn't reconcile that it had actually happened.

Randy pushed his lean body off the wall, strolling slowly toward the captive brunette. "Until he does, though...that'll give you and me time to _catch up_." The Viper's PIt owner paused at the side of the bed. "It seems that quite a lot has happened since I last saw you." His gaze shifted again, and Mickie could tell - just by the way her skin was crawling - that he was staring at her pregnant belly. "_Quite_ a lot," the blue-eyed man repeated slowly.

A hard, ugly note crept into his voice, and without warning, he swung his hand up, backhanding her hard across the face. Mickie's head snapped sharply to the side; the entire left half of her face was stinging. An instant later, she felt Randy's thumb and forefinger dig into her chin, wrenching her head back around as he forced her to look at him.

As soon as she did, Mickie felt something inside her go numb. There was no way to properly describe the expression on Randy's face - other than she was finally getting the visual accompaniment to what she had heard in his voice the night she had shot him; as though the demon, or whatever it was lurking inside that made him _him_, had finally been _unleashed_.

"You little _whore_!" Randy's voice was a savage snarl, drops of his saliva actually splattering against her cheek as he spat out each word. "Did you _really_ think that it would be that simple - that you could just _shoot_ me and _leave_?" His entire hand was clamped around her chin now, his fingers sinking into her flesh. "I _saved your life_ - ergo, it belongs to _me_ now. You _leave_ when I _say_ you can leave; you _die_ when I _say_ you can _die_!"

The Viper's Pit owner released his grip - but only so he could deliver another painful slap; open-hand this time. "_Actions_ have _consequences_, Mick - you can't just _shoot_ someone in the arm, and not expect there to be _repercussions-"_

"Is that why you sent them after me?" Mickie shot back. In spite of the panic racing through her body, the sheer terror of once more being at Randy's mercy, she still managed to glare defiantly back up at her captor. "You sent those _vamps_ to my place, to _kill _me-"

"I _sent _them there because they were looking for your _boyfriend_," the blue-eyed man retorted coldly. "All I told them to do was teach you a _lesson_ - but because they _both_ turned out to be such utter fuckwits, they couldn't even manage _that..._and you got away from me."

He reached for her again, and Mickie instinctively flinched, but Randy merely touched her face; a caress which - under different circumstances and coming from other individuals - would have seemed tender. His voice was surprisingly soft now, almost gentle. "To be honest, I wouldn't even have known where to find you...if Cody hadn't been _stupid _enough to wear every single one of his emotions on his sleeve."

The brunette felt an icy sliver of dread knife through her. "What did you do to him?" she whispered. Randy didn't answer; merely stared back at her, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Mickie's chest grew tight with panic. "_What did you do to him_?"

"To use a cliche - I _terminated _him. _Permanently_." the Viper's Pit owner remarked casually. He paused for a moment, drinking in the look of horrified anguish rapidly spreading across his captive's face. "If it makes you feel any better, he never gave you up. He stayed _true_...even when I pulled the trigger."

Mickie couldn't speak; she could barely even _think_. All she knew was that Cody - poor, sweet, naive Cody, who had never done anything except _help_ her...was _dead_.

Dead...because of _her_.

The brunette lunged up, the handcuffs digging into her wrists hard enough to draw blood, but Mickie didn't care. All of her vision was tunneling inward, the edges of it tinged with red - as though, by doing so, it could focus her grief and fury like a laser and send it shooting into the brain of the man staring down at her. "You _bastard_!" the brunette screamed. She couldn't breathe; pure emotion was the only thing forcing the words out. "You fucking _bastard_! I'll kill you - I'll _kill you_-"

Her voice abruptly died off into petrified silence as Randy whipped the gun out from the waistband of his jeans, shoving the muzzle against her cheek. Mickie's eyes widened, until a ring of white was visible around the iris, a terror-stricken whimper emanating from her throat.

Randy chuckled, the corner of his mouth dipping upward in a sneer. "Don't worry, Mick - I'm not going to _kill _you." As he spoke, he trailed the gun down her face, along the pulsating hollow of her throat, over the swells of her breasts. "See, after all you've endured, I _know_ that the nicest thing I could ever do for you would be to end your life - and I'm _through _being _nice_. But _this_..." He stopped; the muzzle of the weapon was now pressed against the brunette's pregnant belly. "..._this..._I have no use for."

Mickie's eyes bulged even more, her mouth moving frantically as she struggled to speak. The Viper's Pit owner went on, his tone thoughtful, dispassionate, as though he was doing nothing more serious than taking out the trash. "I don't know how you kept this from me - in fact, I'm surprised that you _managed_ to do so - but it really doesn't matter." He cocked the hammer back. "Say goodbye to your bastard spawn."

"_No_!" The brunette struggled upward, digging her heels into the mattress as she attempted to get at least semi-upright. What little color she possessed had drained from her face; her eyes seemed as large as saucers, full of agitation and fear. "_Don't_!"

"_Really_?" Randy drawled mildly. He leaned down, digging the muzzle even harder into Mickie's belly. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't - and _please_, don't say because your feelings will be hurt."

Mickie stopped, swinging by her handcuffed arms. Her sudden bout of hysteria had depleted what little strength she still possessed - her vision was getting fuzzy and there was a dull high-pitched ringing in her ears. "Don't..." The brunette stopped, licked her lips, tried again. "Please...Dave will _kill_ you if you do-"

"_So_?" the Viper's Pit owner interjected sarcastically. "_This _doesn't concern him - why should that waste of fangs give a shit about what happens to this thing?" He punctuated his statement with another hard jab of the gun.

"Because..." Mickie could feel herself weakening; the world around her was darkening to black and she was finding it difficult to keep her eyes open. Any second now, she would lapse back into unconsciousness. The brunette sucked in a deep breath, drawing on every last iota of stamina she possessed in order to spit out her next words: "Because..._it's his baby_."

Through the dark curtain rapidly tamping down over her vision, she saw Randy go perfectly still, then suddenly pull the gun away, reaching up with both hands to grab her face. "Listen to me, James," She could feel the heat of his breath blowing against her face, along with the terse urgency of his voice. "This better not be a lie. If it is, I'll make sure you die _screaming_-"

"It's _not_...a _lie_!" Mickie retorted, her voice thick. Her head lolled backward weakly; it was only with effort that she was able to lift it back up. "Why...would I _lie_? Don't...don't kill it, _please_..."

Randy stared at her a moment, then abruptly released her, letting her fall back down onto the mattress. He said something - Mickie couldn't quite make it out; it sounded like: "Yeah...why _would _you?" - before rising to his feet, striding toward the door.

The brunette, now too weak to do anything more strenuous than turn her head, merely stared after him. "Wait! Where're...you going?"

Randy paused, turning back toward her. Mickie could no longer see his face, but she could still hear his _voice_ - the terrifying sound of it would follow her down into the realm of unconsciousness.

"Let me put it this way - after three years...you've _finally_ become useful to me."

* * *

Randy eased his lean frame into his chair, folding his hands together on top of his desk as he stared at his cell phone. However, in his mind's eye, it wasn't the electronic device that he saw - but rather, Mickie's mangled face, the frantic conviction in her brown irises that outshone the weakness of her voice:

_Dave...he'll kill you...it's his baby..._

_ It's...his...baby..._

Randy clenched his hands together, so hard that his knuckles flushed white. More than anything, he wanted to believe that Mickie had been lying; that she had merely blurted out the first thing that had popped into her head in order to save the bastard inside her. If there was one thing the Viper's Pit owner understood about vampires - and he understood quite a few things - it was that they couldn't make little vampires, and so the idea that the scarred brunette could be walking around with a half-bloodsucker brat inside her was ludicrous; impossible, even.

But...

_But_...Randy also understood a few things about human beings as well, and while he had more or less dozed off during sex ed class, he remembered enough about basic biology to know that a woman couldn't just go from zero to pregnant in a few weeks' time. For her to be at the size she was now...Mickie had to have been knocked up when she had come to his apartment - and had to have _known_ as such...which meant that she should have reacted with that same instinctual panic when he had attacked her...yet he had seen _none_ of that then.

So...by _that_ logic, he could infer that Mickie _hadn't _been pregnant a few weeks ago - either that or not so far along that she could have known.

Which meant that...this baby was growing faster than normal.

Which mean that...it wasn't entirely _human_.

Which mean that...the Viper's Pit owner was going to have to alter his plans for revenge ever-so-slightly.

His mental gears still whirring, Randy stirred, unfolding his hands and reaching across the desk to pick up the phone. With habitual ease, he dialed a number, leaning back in his chair as he held the device to his ear. He heard the other end ring a few times before it picked up and a woman answered: "_Allo_? Randy?"

"English, _please_," the blue-eyed man interrupted tersely.

There was a long pause at the other end, then the woman spoke again, her pleasing voice coated with a thick French accent. "Professional, to the very end."

"That's what you pay me for. Listen..." Randy paused, lifting his legs up and propping his feet on his desk. "I've got a business proposition for you."

His azure irises slid over to the side, focusing on the darkened stairway in the corner...at the bottom of which stood the door to Mickie's prison. "Something...that you're going to want to take _full_ advantage of..."

* * *

Randy was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, when the front door flew off its hinges.

The Viper's Pit owner pushed himself up onto his elbows, feeling not even a stirring of surprise as the diminutive figure of Melina came storming into the room. He sat up all the way, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. "I hope you're going to pay for that."

"_Shut up_." The female vampire's chest was heaving, her slender fingers already curled into claws - it was clear that whatever self-control she still possessed was not enough and spread way too thin. She lifted one hand, stabbing her index finger in the blue-eyed man's direction. "I should _kill_ you-"

"Oh, _here_ _we go_," Randy drawled scathingly, but Melina was still talking, her shrill tone drowning out his deep one: "You _set me up_!"

At this, the Viper's Pit owner paused, raising his eyebrows questioningly. The female vampire rushed on: "We went to that place, because you said that _she_ would be there - but instead of that junkie cunt, all we found was one _useless_ doctor and _John Cena_."

Mild surprise flitted across Randy's features, but it was quickly consumed by the emptiness. "And...what?" the Viper's Pit owner retorted. "You think that _I _had something with it?" He shook his head. "Not me, princess - I don't fuck around with Hunters."

"_Bullshit_!" Melina screamed. Her dark eyes glittered with dark fury. "This is all just a _game_ to you - you've been playing me from the beginning-"

"So what if I have?" the blue-eyed man shot back. "Morality is for the _weak_ - don't tell me you survived as long as you have by being _honest_." He rose to his feet, circling slowly around the female vampire as he continued talking. "It bothers you, doesn't it? That I can play the game as well as you can? That I can be as ruthless as I need to be and still sleep at night?"

He stopped in front of Melina, leaning down until his lips hovered over hers. "You're right; it _is_ all just a game - and I _never_ stop playing...just like you."

The female vampire glared fiercely back at him. "Even _if_ you didn't know about Cena," she spat, her voice a low grudging hiss. "You _had_ to have known that we wouldn't find her there." She took a step forward, closing the already-scant distance between them. "_You know_ where she is." Another step. "I should tear you limb from limb-"

"You keep saying that," Randy interrupted. "But let's be honest - if you were really going to, you _would have_ by now." The Viper's Pit owner paused for a second, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "You know, I'm starting to think that you're just like those _pets_ of yours..._all talk_."

"_All talk_?" Melina echoed, her voice dangerously soft. "_I'm _all talk?" Without warning, she grabbed the blue-eyed man by the front of his T-shirt, hoisting him off the ground and throwing him across the room. Randy hit the opposite wall hard, the back of his head slamming into a mirror and shattering it. He slid down to the floor, jagged shards of silvered glass tinkling down around him.

The female vampire strode toward him, the sounds of her high heels like gunshots on the wooden floor. "I'll _show_ you just how much I'm _all_ talk-"

Her threat ended in a shrill reedy shriek of pain as Randy slammed one of the mirror shards into her foot, puncturing the shoe leather and piercing the skin. Melina's legs buckled, and the Viper's Pit owner immediately yanked his makeshift weapon free, using his own leg to knock her feet out from her. The female vampire hit the floor hard, and Randy quickly climbed on top of her, straddling her tiny body and pinning her on her back.

Melina glared up at him, her eyes black with anger. "_Get off me_."

Randy pressed the bloody point of the mirror shard against her chin, and the female vampire involuntarily gulped. "Why should I?" the blue-eyed man remarked mildly. "You're stronger than I am - _you make me_."

Melina didn't reply, nor did she try to push him off; she merely lay there and continued to glower a hole through him. The Viper's Pit owner went on, trailing the tip of the mirror shard down the female vampire's throat, over the front of her chest, stopping at her shirt, where three small buttons held the garment closed. "See, princess, I think you _like_ being dominated." With a soft _rip_, he sliced through the threads, popping the button. He moved down to the second. _Rip_. "I think...you _like _a man to push you around."

No response from Melina. Randy moved down to the last button. _Rip_. The shirt melted open, revealing smooth olive skin and the inviting swells of Melina's ample breasts. The Viper's Pit owner's smirk deepened, and he bent down, sealing the female vampire's mouth in a hard kiss.

Melina's fangs sank into his lower lip, and Randy let out a low surprised cry of pain. With ease, the female vampire flipped him over and off her, straddling his waist so that _she_ was now on top. The blue-eyed man lashed out with the mirror shard, but Melina grabbed his wrist, forcing his arm back until the tip of the makeshift blade was pressed against his own throat.

Now it was Randy's turn to swallow hard. The female vampire leaned over him, her breasts tumbling free of her torn shirt, her face of portrait of strangely angelic cruelty. "And how about _you_?" Melina cooed, her voice sweetly mocking. "Do you like your women to fight back...or just lie there?"

Randy's fist crashed into her face, knocking her back. The female vampire landed face-down on the bed, momentarily stunned by the blow. Almost immediately, she felt Randy on top of her; felt his hot breath on her neck, felt his hand fumbling up under her short skirt. "I don't know about you," the blue-eyed man growled. His fingers located her G-string; with ease, he snapped it, tearing the flimsy garment from her body. "But I'm ready to finish what we started."

"Fine by me," Melina gasped, her voice husky with equal parts loathing and need. She twisted her body around to face Randy, clamping her legs around his waist as he unzipped his fly, unable to bite back a pleasurable cry as he thrust into her. Her arms snaked up over his back, her fingernails shredding his T-shirt, scratching open his skin.

Without warning, the female vampire suddenly rolled over, flipping Randy over onto his back. The Viper's Pit owner tried to rise, but Melina pressed one hand against each of his shoulders, pinning him to the bed. She arched one delicate eyebrow, smirking. "If we do this..." she whispered. "We do it _my way_."

For a moment, there was nothing...and then Randy's mouth curved into a sneer; a mirror image of hers. He pulled Melina down into a rough kiss, his hands tangling in her blond-streaked hair.

The rickety bed frame shuddered and shook as the rhythm of the pair's thrusts increased. Their mingled cries rose in pitch and intensity, sounding like lovemaking and more like animals mating. They writhed together; two depraved individuals who were, perhaps in some dark twisted way, true soul-mates.

The force of their passion eventually proved too great for the bed, which collapsed; the pieces of the frame falling in all directions. Melina screamed as she came, followed a second later by Randy's hoarse groans as he reached his climax as well. The female vampire collapsed on top of him, and for several long minutes, neither one of them moved.

Eventually, Melina stirred, propping herself up on one elbow as she stared lazily down at the Viper's Pit owner. "So..." the female vampire purred, reaching out with one hand to idly trace the contours of his chest. "...are you going to tell me where Mickie is?"

A low satisfied chuckle escaped the blue-eyed man, and he gently trailed the backs of his fingers down Melina's petal-soft cheek. "Hmm..." Randy murmured softly. "I don't have the slightest idea."

Melina's smile evaporated, leaving behind a countenance of stunned incredulity. The Viper's Pit owner leaned closer, until his nose was nearly touching hers, his deep voice dropping to a soft whisper. "_But thanks for the workout_."

With that, he sat up, simultaneously pulling out and pushing the female vampire off him. Rising to his feet, he headed toward the bathroom, leaving behind the flabbergasted Melina to gradually comprehend that once again - and now in every conceivable sense of the word - she had just been fucked by Randy.

* * *

Melina stormed down the weatherbeaten stairs, holding her torn shirt closed with one hand. A plethora of emotions were swirling through her mind right now - anger, betrayal, humiliation - but chief among them was the cold realization that she absolutely _despised _the Viper's Pit owner.

She had never met a human quite like Randy before - someone so capable of getting under her skin and manipulating her emotions rather than the other way around. And he was so _stubborn_, so fervently committed to his own needs, his own agenda, at the expense of everyone and everything around him...

In a way, he was as infuriatingly obstinate as Dave...but yet possessed all of the killer instinct and absent morality that the big man had lacked. Another time, another place...she would have turned him. Now...she just wanted to rip that disrespectful tongue of his right out of his head.

Melina emerged from the alley, sauntering down the street, which was mercifully empty this time of night. She crossed both arms over her chest, hugging herself as she thought. Randy had Mickie..._somewhere_ - of that she had no doubt - and the fact that he wasn't telling Melina where he had stashed her meant that the Viper's Pit owner had something..._bigger_...in mind.

The female vampire ground to a sudden halt, a smile touching her lips. Of course. _Dave_. By using Mickie as bait, Randy was hoping to lure Dave in as well - and by doing so, deprive her of the revenge she so rightfully deserved.

Melina resumed walking, her pace quicker this time, her thoughts equally fast-paced. The Viper's Pit owner had already used her, so there was no reason she couldn't use him right back. Let him use Mickie. Let him lure that big lummox Dave right to his doorstep. Let him do all the dirty work - and let her and her boys swoop in and snatch up the spoils.

And then... The female vampire's smile broadened.

And then...the _fun_ would begin.


	35. Chapter 35: Running Up That Hill

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I apologize a thousand times for this chapter - it is pure filler, and it is not my best work, so please don't stone me! Even as I was writing it, I kept thinking about the action scenes that follow, and...well...here we are. But, ENJOY! PEACE!**

**Thank you to **therealchamps, Shandy777, AprilGilbert1996, Esha Napoleon, Nastygrl25, nikki1335, Girl on Fire, **and **Animal Luvr 4 Life **for all your AWESOME reviews! I love you ALL! HUGS! PEACE!**

* * *

Chapter 34: Running Up That Hill

"_And if I only could/Make a deal with God/And get Him to swap our places..." - Placebo, "Running Up That Hill"_

_ He was floating, caught in that ethereal no-man's-land between wakefulness and oblivion. The vampire couldn't move his limbs, or even feel if they were still attached - but instead of panic, all he felt was a strange sort of calm. Images were flickering around him, all of them tinged with the sensation of hazy unreality that accompanies dreams, and so far, he had been content just to watch them._

_ He didn't know where he was, or how he had gotten here, but somehow, those questions didn't seem to matter right now. Wherever he was, he was warm, he was safe, he was satisfied - he could just stay here forever._

_ He could just stay here forev-_

_ **Dave...**_

_At the sound of Mickie's voice, Dave flinched, feeling the pleasant haze engulfing him fracture and give way, allowing pain and uncertainty to creep back in. All around him, the collage of pleasing images began to wink out one by one, like television screens shutting down, replaced by an entirely new one...and unlike the visions that had preceded it, this tableau exuded the pain of absolute recollection._

_ He was back in Cody's apartment, in the gloomy shadows of his bedroom. He could see Mickie's petite form huddled on the bed, and beside it - incredibly - his own powerful form, his massive shoulders slumped in sadness as he pressed the scarred brunette's limp hand to his lips. _

_ Dave tried to turn away; tried to close his eyes, but found that he couldn't - just like that kid in A Clockwork Orange, he was powerless to look away; to do anything except watch as the memory played out, second by agonizing second. He could hear their voices, his and Mickie's, soft and yet somehow deafening at the same time:_

_ **You're hungry...you should eat...**_

_** It's nothing...I can wait 'til later...**_

_** You have to be strong...strong for both of us...**_

_** I'll be right here...where you get back...**_

_** No! **the vampire wanted to scream. **Don't do it! Don't go! She won't BE here when you get back - he'll TAKE her, and you won't be there to stop it- **But no matter how hard he tried, Dave couldn't produce even the faintest hint of a sound. He could only watch - unable to move, unable to speak - as his earlier self rose to his feet, kissing Mickie tenderly on the cheek before heading for the door._

_ As the image dissolved around him and the bitter ashy taste of grief filled his mouth, the vampire wondered vaguely if Cena had in fact pulled the trigger out there in the rain, and what he was seeing was merely the beginning of an altogether new kind of tortuous eternity-_

The cold abrasive surface of the cement floor dug into Dave's cheek, simultaneously yanking him out of the nightmare and back into consciousness. The vampire slowly sat up, groaning softly. His entire body felt as though it had suffered the world's most acute charley horse, and he could discern the first faint twinges of a migraine throbbing up near his left temple.

Dave gingerly massaged his neck, wincing - even though the tiny punctures had since healed, the point of contact where the electricity had entered his body was still tender to the touch. The big man's mouth twisted upward in a bitter grin. Leave it to Cena to pull a dick move out of nowhere.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, the vampire took his first look at his new surroundings. He was in a long empty room, utterly devoid of furnishings. The concrete walls were smooth and blank - except for the one directly in front of him, which was scarred with what looked like bullet holes.

Dave's first thought was that the lead Hunter had tricked him; that instead of helping him, he had brought the vampire to a prison. Given Cena's personality and his lack of sympathy toward anything with a set of fangs, that explanation was the most plausible - but it didn't feel like the _right_ one.

Everything in life had an aroma, an aura, an _essence - _even emotion. And despite the ominous appearance of this place, it didn't smell like death, or fear, or any of the other sensations that connoted a place of execution.

In fact, there was only one emotion that this room reeked of...and that was grief. Pure, rank, unabated grief.

The big man rotated around on his haunches as he took in the remainder of the space. On the opposite end of the room, two things broke up the monotony of the blank walls - a door, under which a thin strip of artificial light shone...and the far left corner, where the weak golden glow of a votive candle flame illuminated the rectangular edges of a small object.

Frowning, Dave stood, crossing the room and crouching down in front of the item. It was a framed photograph of a young woman, seated on a swing. The image looked to be of professional quality, probably from a wedding - the woman was wearing a long white dress, and there were flowers in her pale blond hair.

Her back was to the camera, her face half-turned toward the camera. Even in profile alone, she was stunningly beautiful, but it was more than just that. There was an achingly intimate quality about the picture, as though she wasn't yet aware of the photographer's presence - the way her lids were nearly closed, the way the corners of her mouth curved up in a tiny private smile - that drew you in more than the delicate precision of her features.

There was a smaller photo tucked into the edge of the frame; creased and dog-eared, as though it had been handled countless times. This image was of a little boy, probably no more than a year or two old, gripping a blue stuffed football in his tiny hands. His bright blue eyes were focused on something off-camera, his mouth open in a gleeful laugh.

Dave stared hard at both photographs, unable to tear his gaze away from either the stunning young woman or the happy little boy - and in the back of his mind, he realized that his earlier assumption was correct; this _was_ a prison. Not for people...but for the _memento mori_ of one man's lost life...

The door opened, and the vampire hastily set the framed picture down, rising to his feet and backing away as Cena entered the room. The lead Hunter pulled the door shut behind him, hooking his thumbs into his gun belt.

For a long uncomfortable moment, the two adversaries said nothing; merely eyed other warily. Finally, Cena was the one to break the silence. "You're awake."

"Yeah, no thanks to you," Dave growled, reaching up to massage his neck again. His dark eyes narrowed. "You fuckin' _tased_ me."

Cena's stony countenance never shifted. "Like I said earlier, I'm not comfortable with vamps inside my base - so if that means I need to knock your big ass out and carry you in myself, then that's what I'm going to do."

It took everything Dave had not to roll his eyes. "Whatever..." the big man grumbled. He turned away, resting one hand against the cement wall for support. "So what happens now? When do we go after Mickie?"

"Not so fast," The lead Hunter held up one hand in a halting gesture. "I haven't decided that yet. _First_, you and I need to have a conversation-"

"Jesus fucking _Christ_!" With a roar, Dave balled his hand into a fist, punching the concrete wall. Cracks radiated outward from the point of impact, accompanied by the rumbling _SNAP_ of stone. The blow would have broken a normal man's hand, but the vampire merely whipped around, glaring fiercely at the lead Hunter. "We don't have _time_ for that! I didn't come here to have a committee discussion - I came here because I needed _help_!"

The big man stormed toward Cena, the words tumbling out of him at a furious pace. "If you _really_ cared about her, you'd be out there right now, looking for her - the only thing that's _stopping _you is _me_!"

He ground to a sudden halt, less than a foot from the lead Hunter. "That's what this is _really_ about - you still can't accept the fact that, even everything that happened to Mickie, she let _me_ get close while you never could." He peered critically at Cena. "And that _kills_ you, doesn't it? It kills you so bad that the only way you can get over it is by telling yourself it's a lie, a _trick_ - that she couldn't _possibly_ be in love with a bloodsucker."

The vampire slowly shook his head, his lip curling in faint disgust. "I can see now why she wants nothing to do with you, and I don't blame her. You're just as bad as Melina-"

"You _son of a_-" Cena's stoic countenance fractured, revealing the very real flashes of rage and contempt simmering beneath. Out of the corner of his eye, Dave saw the lead Hunter's hand clench into a fist. "Who the _fuck _do you think you are? Comparing me to that _cunt_-"

"Why shouldn't I?" the big man shot back without intimidation. "It's true. All _either_ of you know how to do is _take_, without caring _what_ happens or _what_ kind of a mess you leave behind." His eyes narrowed even further. "You both think that you're _God_; that you can just _decide_ who lives and who _dies_."

"Why not?" Cena retorted coldly. "You and _her_ and all the others like you - you're just a fucking _disease_-"

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Dave interrupted, his tone caustic. "And make you mention it to Mickie, when _she_ turns, just so she knows how you _really_ feel about her." Upon hearing the scarred brunette's name, Cena snapped his mouth shut, clearly at a loss for words, but unwilling to concede as such.

The vampire went on. "I've never done..._anything_...to you-"

"Really?" Cena interjected sarcastically. "Because I can think of a _few_ times when you've almost taken my head off-"

"Only because all _you've_ ever done is point a loaded gun at me and tell me to start counting!" the big man shot back hotly. "Even _animals_ have the right to defend themselves - and that's _obviously_ what you consider me to _be_!"

Dave held out his arms in a helpless gesture. "All I've _ever_ wanted was to live my life without any trouble. I don't kill, I hunt only when I _have_ to, I don't _enjoy_ it when I _do_ - but that's still not enough for you, is it?" He shook his head again. "No...you won't stop until I'm a pile of ash on the ground because _that's_ the only way _you _can feel better."

At the edges of his vision, he saw Cena's hand tighten into a fist yet again, and in the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware that he was treading dangerously close to a point of no return, but the vampire was too far gone with anger and anxiety to care. Without fully comprehending what he was doing, he pointed toward the makeshift shrine in the corner...and in doing so, leaped right over the line in the sand. "Killing me is the only way you can make up for failing _them_-"

The lead Hunter hit him.

The blow caught Dave right in the cheekbone, driving him down to his knees. Before he could collect his senses, Cena was right there beside him, grabbing his shirt collar, jamming his face into the big man's. "_Listen up, you piece of shit_," the lead Hunter growled; his voice had dropped to a terse whisper, brimming with barely contained loathing and hatred. "I still haven't decided whether to kill you or not - but Mickie or no Mickie, I will put a _bullet through your eye_ if you _ever_ mention them again."

Despite the pain flaring across his face, Dave met the other man's gaze steadily. As with most Hunters, Cena had clearly developed some pretty serious mental defenses for shielding his thoughts from his prey; the vampire hadn't picked up so much as a peep from his mind since he'd walked in the door.

But now, in this unexpected moment of unchecked emotion, those defenses had cracked just a little, allowing a fragment of whatever horrors lurked inside Cena to come spilling out. It wasn't much: a few scattered images, a handful of feelings...and above it all, a woman's voice, shrill with desperation and pleading...

_I couldn't help myself, Johnny...I was so hungry..._

With effort, Dave yanked himself out of Cena's head, lest the lead Hunter sense his presence and use it as an excuse to blow the vampire away. The corner of his mouth curled up in a humorless grin. "Fair enough."

Cena eyed him a few seconds longer, then abruptly released his grip, straightening up and backing up a few paces. When he spoke again, his tone was almost forcibly calm. "You said...that you knew something about your girlfriend's new _pets_." The lead Hunter crossed his muscular arms over his chest. "Who are they?"

The vampire slowly sat back on his haunches, staring at his adversary. "Their names are Miz and Morrison. It was three years ago - Mel had just tracked me down to reconcile, and those two were with her."

"And?" Cena pressed relentlessly.

The big man took a deep breath. "You said...that all vampires are a disease - but with _those two_...it's actually true. They rape, they torture, they maim, they _kill_ - and she _encourages_ them." He let out a harsh mirthless laugh. "They hate my guts - they've _always_ hated my guts - and now Mel does, too...because I chose Mickie over her."

A smile flitted across Cena's mouth, disappearing as quickly as it had emerged, and he shook his head. "She really is a piece of work...high maintenance bitch..." Without adding any further comment, he turned around, heading toward the door.

"Wait a minute!" Dave protested indignantly. The lead Hunter paused, but didn't turn around. The vampire straightened up a little. "Where're you going?"

"Where am _I _going?" Cena echoed, a touch mockingly. "_I'm _going to discuss this with my team. After that...I'll decide where to go from here."

He had just reached for the door handle when Dave spoke once again. His voice was quiet, but rumbling with the faintest hint of a threat. "Just so you know...if she dies...if our _child_ dies...because _you_ couldn't be bothered to make up your mind...it'll be on _your_ head, not mine."

* * *

Maria's fingers flew rapidly over the keys, her green eyes focused intently on the computer screen in front of her. Hacking was just one of the numerous skills that the red-haired young woman possessed - one which, just like all the others, her bubbly timid appearance belied - and at present, she was checking the few scraps of information Dave had given them about Melina's new paramours against every police database she could crack into.

Normally, Cena would be right over her shoulder, practically breathing down her neck as each new result appeared on the screen - but instead, the lead Hunter was slumped against the wall in the gloom near the entranceway, his head bowed as fragments of conversation reverberated in his mind:

_She let ME get close when you never could..._

_ Killing me is the only way you can make up for failing them..._

_ If she dies...if our child dies...it'll be on your head..._

_ If our child dies..._

_ Our child..._

It was those two words that stuck with him, more than Dave's sanctimonious blathering about his right to live, more even than his surprisingly close-hitting insights into the lead Hunter's personal motivations.

Two words, two syllables...that could change _everything_.

Cena might not know as much about vampire biology as Doc Bryan, but he understood _some_ things - enough to know that what Dave was implying was ridiculous. But then again, there was the way the vampire had uttered those words; so casually, as though the sheer impossibility of his claim had never occurred to him.

And then, there had been what the doctor himself had said over the phone, shortly before Mickie had hit him with a bedpan and disappeared...

_There's something that you need to know...about this baby...about its father... _

"I think I found something, Boss."

Maria's hesitant remark jarred the lead Hunter from his reverie, and he pushed himself up, marching over to the cramped knot of computers, clamping one hand on the chair back and leaning down over his subordinate's shoulder. "What'd you have?"

The redhead pushed her wire-rimmed glasses further up her nose, reading aloud. "John Morrison and Michael "Miz" Mizanin...let's see...um...they were the chief suspects in a number of brutal rapes, most of them in the greater Los Angeles area, and the rest spread across the state."

Cena's fingers tightened on the chair back. "Define 'a number of'."

Maria scanned further, swallowing hard. "Over...over a hundred."

The lead Hunter's expression didn't change, but his features seemed just a little bit harder than they had been a second ago. "Continue."

The redhead went on, her high-pitched voice growing progressively softer and meeker as she kept reading. "Like I said, they were the chief suspects, but that was based off of eyewitness testimony alone - there was no physical evidence, and most of the victims were unreliable or recanted their testimony, so they never really got a positive ID."

By now, Jeff and Beth had wandered over from their various stations to listen. Cena's attention remained glued to the screen. "Anything else?"

Maria gulped down another breath. "Um...the violence of the attacks got worse; the last few victims ended up in intensive care. And then-" She hesitated.

The lead Hunter glanced over at her. "And then?" he repeated.

Maria shifted her wide emerald gaze toward him. "One night, Morrison and Mizanin just...disappeared. No one's seen or heard from them since, and soon after, the rapes stopped. The detectives on the case just assumed that an angry father or boyfriend got to them first-"

"When did they disappear?" Cena interrupted brusquely.

Maria swallowed hard again. "Three years ago." She turned back toward the screen. "Look, there's a picture-" She clicked her mouse, and a black-and-white image materialized on the monitor.

The lead Hunter immediately sucked in a breath, and he could tell, just by the way Beth was tensing, that she was doing the same thing. The photograph was of grainy poor quality - obviously a still taken from interrogation room footage - but he had no trouble recognizing the two smirking young men seated at the table as the same two vampires that had come barreling out of the basement at Bryan's clinic.

Maria tentatively looked back and forth between the digitized picture and her superior. "So..." she ventured. "What...what happens _now_?"

Slowly, without taking his eyes off the screen, Cena rose to his full height, then turned on his heel and stormed toward the curtain leading to his private room. The three remaining Hunter exchanged confused glances before Beth eventually followed after him.

* * *

Dave looked up as the door opened, getting to his feet as the lead Hunter came toward him. Cena halted directly in front of his adversary, his handsome face an unreadable mask; his voice, when he spoke, was just as inscrutable. "Listen to me - I want you to _swear_ on your _life_ that the next answers you give me are the _truth_. Understand?"

The vampire nodded. "I swear."

At the doorway, Beth appeared, pushing aside the heavy black drape, but hesitating at the threshold. Cena's attention remained on the big man. "Do you _really_ love her as much you say?"

Dave didn't blink. "Yes."

Cena paused a moment before uttering his next question. "Are you...the father of her baby?"

To this, Beth let out a soft startled gasp, but neither man moved. The vampire bobbed his head up and down slowly in another nod, his voice cracking ever-so-slightly. "_Yes_."

The lead Hunter stepped closed, until there was less than a foot of space between them, his deep voice dropping down to a level that only the two of them could hear: "What would you be willing to do...to get her back?"

Dave lifted his chin up a touch. "Whatever it takes."

For a long interminable moment, no one _breathed_. Then, eventually, Cena took a step back, his mouth relaxed into what could have almost been a smile. "All right, then."

He turned, and Dave started to follow him, but instead of heading for the door, the lead Hunter instead strode toward the makeshift shrine in the corner, kneeling down before it. The vampire couldn't see his face, but as he watched, Cena reached out, his fingers trailing down over the woman's face with a gesture that was tender, longing.

The lead Hunter bowed his head for a moment, then stood, clearing his throat impatiently - when he turned back toward Dave, his features had once more resumed their impassive countenance.

"So...let's bring her back."


	36. Chapter 36: Hell and Consequences

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! GOD, this was a pain in the ass to write. First of all, I had a script to finish. Second...you know when you're writing, and there's this perfect vision of the chapter in your head, and what ends up coming out isn't even close to being as good? Yeah, I was dealing with that. BUT...I hope you like it. We're getting down towards the end - only a few more chapters to go. ENJOY! PEACE!**

**Thank you to **therealchamps, Shandy777, AprilGilbert1996, BigRedMachineUK, Girl on Fire, Esha Napoleon, nikki1335, **and **Thatpersonthatreads **for reviewing the last chapter! I love you ALL! HUGS! LOTS OF HUGS!**

* * *

Chapter 35: Hell & Consequences

"_I'm not a problem/Until you make one out of spite/I'll give you hell and consequences for trying..." - Stone Sour, "Hell & Consequences"_

He couldn't take this anymore.

Ted propped his elbows on the bar, pressing his fingertips against his temples. His head was throbbing, and his stomach was churning queasily; even the merest suggestion of food brought only overwhelming nausea. He hadn't slept at all - disposing of Cody's body and cleaning up the back room had taken until dawn, and all attempts to drift off afterwards had proved futile; he couldn't get the image of blood and brain matter caked on the walls out of his head...or the look of surprise in Cody's dead sightless eyes.

He had finally crawled out of bed around 3 in the afternoon, feeling like garbage but too terrified of evoking any further wrath from Randy to call in sick. Staggering into the bathroom and turning on the faucet, he had glanced in the mirror and been stunned to see an ashen, hollow-eyed, unshaven stranger staring back at him.

Ted groaned, covering his eyes with his hands. Somehow, overnight, his life had become as bizarrely deranged as a carnival funhouse, and he wondered what could have possibly compelled him to think that this job was _exciting_, _sexy _even. Tragedy has an amazing way of stripping away ambivalence, and despite the mental haze engulfing him, the blond-haired young man could feel his entire career at the Viper's Pit distilling down into three undeniable truths.

The first was that Cody was dead. The second was that Randy was completely insane. The third was that, the longer he stayed here, the greater his chances would become of one day ending up on the bottom of that river next to his coworker.

At the sound of the front door opening, the blond-haired young man hastily straightened up, forcing what he hoped was a welcoming smile on his face. The grin became a little less strained when he saw that the new arrival approaching the bar was a young woman who had to be at least a "10" on the gorgeousness scale - long red hair, big green eyes, delicate doll-like features, and what promised to be a pretty rocking body beneath those skinny jeans and off-the-shoulder top.

She halted in front of him, resting both hands tentatively on the scarred bar surface, and Ted was just about to open his mouth and ask for her order when he noticed the expression on her face.

As soon as he did, the bartender felt something inside him sink. Girls who walked into the Viper's Pit with _that_ look on their face - that air of helpless desperation - didn't come here to order margaritas. They didn't come here to flirt with him and maybe slip him their number before leaving the bar. No...they came here because they were looking for something...something only Randy could provide.

Part of Ted wanted to grab this girl by the shoulders and hustle her out the door; tell her to run away and never come back - because this place was _dangerous_, it was _death_-

But before he could do so, a hand abruptly clamped down onto his shoulder, and the bartender could tell without even turning around - just by the way the fingers dug into the joint, by the way his internal thermometer plummeted several degrees - that Randy had emerged from his office.

A second later, he heard his boss's voice, practically in his ear: "Where's your manners, _Ted_? Why don't you ask the young lady what she'll have?"

"Actually-" The redhead spoke up suddenly. Despite the nervousness of her tone, Ted could detect a natural effervescence in her voice that made his heart drop even more. "-I was looking for someone named...Randy?"

The Viper's Pit chuckled. "You found him, angel." Still holding onto Ted's shoulder, he simultaneously eased his lean frame forward and shoved the bartender behind him. "What can I do for you?"

Instead of answering, the young woman glanced hesitantly at Ted. Her emerald irises momentarily locked onto his, and the blond-haired young man felt a rush of panic and concern surge upward inside him. _Don't do it..._he pleaded silently. _Don't deal with him, PLEASE...you'll regret it-_

His mental entreaty was cut short as Randy brought his arm up, whacking the bartender painfully on the back. "Don't worry about Ted," the blue-eyed man remarked mildly. "He's well aware of the business that I do - whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of him.

The redhead swung her gaze away from Ted, ducking her head as she stared down at the bar. She bit her full lower lip, the words tumbling out of her with a soft reluctance: "My coke dealer...got busted a few days...and a friend of mine told me that...if I wanted a fix - I should come here and ask for Randy."

She lifted her gaze, looking for all the world like a deer caught in the headlights. "I've got money." As though to illustrate her assertion, she dug her hand into the front pocket of her jeans, pulling out a thick wad of bills. "See-"

"Put that away," the Viper's Pit owner interrupted brusquely. The young woman quickly obeyed, shoving the money back into her pocket and ducking her chin meekly. Randy stared at her for a long moment, before nodding his head in the direction of the steps. "There's a room off to the right at the top of the stairs - we'll talk business there." Another wordless probing stare. "Go on up - I'll join you shortly."

To this, the redhead said nothing; merely shot another tentative look in Ted's direction. As soon as she did, the blond-haired young man felt the anxious gorge rise up inside him once more. _Run!..._he screamed wordlessly. _Get out of here while you still have the chance - don't you know that he'll only tear you down the same way he does everyone else?..._

But, as always, his pleas remained unvoiced, and he could only watch as the beautiful redhead jogged up the stairs - although not without a little appreciation; the view was just as spectacular from the back.

"Ted!" The bartender jumped, his few tenuous sensations of pleasure dissolving as he turned to face his boss. The blue-eyed man cocked his head to the side, favoring his subordinate with an unreadable stare. "Something on your mind?"

His tone was light, casual - but all Ted could hear was the dull _splash_ that Cody's body made when it hit the water, and it took everything he had not to tremble as he blurted out: "No, Boss."

"Good." Randy flicked his gaze toward the upstairs. "I can't see this taking very long - but in the meantime, lock the door and take out the trash."

Ted nodded dully, hearing his boss's directive as though from a great distance - in his mind's eye, he was in the back room, the hot barrel of a gun digging in his face, Randy's baleful threat in his ear...

_Cody...he turned out to be a disappointment..._

_ I don't want to have to say the same thing about you..._

"Oh...and Ted?" Randy's offhand tone - that nonchalance that was itself a threat - forced the bartender back to the present, and the blond-haired young man flinched, reaching up absently to scratch the blistered muzzle imprint that still remained on his cheek.

The Viper's Pit owner smiled; a chilling rictus grin. "If you happen to hear..._sounds_...coming from the upstairs - just ignore them."

With that, he turned around on his heel, sauntering back toward his office. It wasn't until he was out of sight that Ted's countenance crumpled with misery and hate, spitting out his response in a voice that was both bitter and utterly defeated.

"Whatever you say..._Boss_."

* * *

A small green light flickered to life on Jeff's gun belt. The rainbow-haired man glanced at it briefly, then looked back over his shoulder, nodding. "She's in - and Randy's with her."

Behind him, Dave unfolded his limbs gingerly, wincing. The effects of the taser had since worn off, but it was difficult for someone of his size and build to sit motionless with his knees up to his chest for an extended amount of time. While Maria had gone in the front, he and Jeff had approached the Viper's Pit from the rear, creeping into the alley and crouching in the shadows near the back entrance, waiting for the signal that the redhead had successfully commandeered their adversary's attention.

The vampire rose to his feet, glancing toward the door. "Are you _sure_ this is going to work?" he asked, his tone dubious.

"Don't worry about it," Jeff interjected calmly. He stood as well, stretching his wiry frame to work out any residual kinks. "Maria's a natural at this sort of thing."

"Yeah, but she doesn't know Randy like I do - she doesn't know what he's capable of," Dave retorted. "If he makes her-"

This time, the rainbow-haired man shot him a look that was faintly derisive. "She'll be fine," he replied, a hard emphatic note slipping into his tone. "I know she might not _look_ it...but 'Ria can take care of herself."

He said nothing else, and Dave decided it might be better to just let the issue drop and move on instead of pressing it any further. While he was grateful that Jeff was the one accompanying him rather than Cena - and there had been a few minutes of tense debate over _that_ particular decision - he couldn't help but recall all the previous times their paths had crossed.

In Dave's opinion, it wasn't blood that ran through the rainbow-haired man's veins - but pure lunacy. Cena and Beth would use their weapons to keep you at a distance, but Jeff would be the one to throw caution to the wind and launch himself at you like a small vicious dog, fighting tooth and nail - that was not merely a metaphor; he had once bitten Dave hard enough to draw blood - and no matter how many times you slung him against the wall, he would just keep coming at you until you either knocked him unconscious...or killed him.

If the situation had been any different; if it had been just himself, the vampire wouldn't have been so concerned with Jeff's psychotic tenacity...but now there was _Mickie's _safety to consider. The scarred brunette was somewhere inside that building; pregnant, scared, _starving_ - God only knew how much weaker she had become since Randy had taken her.

With Mickie's frail connections to life growing even more tenuous by the second, their sole option was to avoid confrontation altogether; to sneak in and get her out without the Viper's Pit owner being any the wiser. The thought of leaving Randy untouched, unpunished for his sins, galled Dave to the marrow, but he had no other choice - with Mickie in her weakened state, vengeance was something he could not afford.

He only hoped that Jeff understood that bitter truth as well...and that he wasn't going to turn around to find that the rainbow-haired man had once more duct-taped a homemade bomb to himself.

Save for a bare bulb above the entranceway casting a small pool of weak flickering yellowish light, the alleyway was dark. The two men slowly advanced toward the back door, taking care to step around the discarded plastic bottles and cans littering the ground. All of a sudden, the back door crashed open, forcing both of them to dive back into the sheltering safety of the shadows.

The vampire pressed his body against the brick wall, fully anticipating to see Randy emerge from within the Viper's Pit, like a spider creeping from the far edges of its web - and immediately feeling a stinging mixture of relief and anxiety as another figure stepped out of the bar, toting a large plastic bag of trash in both arms. Dave recognized him as Cody's coworker behind the bar - Ted, he was pretty sure his name was.

The vampire tensed, but the blond-haired young man passed by him without so much as a glance. He paused at the Dumpster a few feet adjacent to the door, lifting up the lid with one hand and shoving the trash bag in with the other. Dave shot a glance over toward Jeff, hoping the rainbow-haired man had a plan as to how to proceed next - and to his instantaneous dismay, saw that the Hunter was already sidling toward the unsuspecting bartender, gun drawn and down at his side.

The vampire quickly straightened up, but before he could move or even speak, Jeff had clapped his hand over Ted's mouth, dragging him back into the shadows. The blond-haired young man thrashed around, struggling to free himself, uttering muffled cries of protest.

His frantic flailing and panicked noises instantly ceased as Jeff pressed the muzzle of the gun against his temple. "Scream and you're dead." the rainbow-haired man ordered, his Southern accent making the command's cadence sound almost musical. Satisfied that his threat had had the desired effect, the Hunter looked over at Dave, shrugging as if to say: _That was easy..._

Fighting back the urge to belt the Hunter right in the mouth for his extreme choice of actions, Dave stepped forward into the light, halting right in front of Ted. As soon as the bartender saw the massive vampire standing before him, he let out a high-pitched mewling sound, his whole body quivering uncontrollably.

A familiar acrid aroma immediately assaulted Dave's nostrils, and glancing down, he saw that the blond-haired young man had indeed pissed himself. Despite the urgency of the situation, the vampire felt an involuntary rush of sympathy, and so he kept his voice as calm and nonthreatening as his current level of adrenaline would allow. "Where's Mickie?"

The bartender struggled once more, unintelligible mumbles emerging from his gagged mouth. Jeff removed his hand, and the syllables fairly flowed out of Ted. "I don't know _where_ she is! I _swear_-"

"Bullshit," the rainbow-haired man interjected almost nonchalantly. He slid his emerald gaze in Dave's direction. "He's lying - I can hear it in his voice."

The vampire said nothing. He, too, had picked up on the deceit - not from Ted's voice, but amid the agitated jumble of his thoughts. Part of him wanted to dispense with the niceties - it would be so much easier to just grab the bartender by the shirt collar, shove his human facade aside, and let the beast take over.

But instead of giving in to the impatient growls rumbling inside him, Dave kept himself in check. Because he had sensed another emotion practically interwoven with the deception...and that was the sharp sting of fear. And while it would be simple to say that the feeling was just a result of the current situation...the truth was that Ted had been emanating pure terror before he had even realized he was not alone in the alley.

Something had scared the blond-haired young man; had pushed him so far to the edge that it wouldn't take very much prodding to make him jump. If they were going to get anything useful out of him, they would need to tread lightly.

Ted, meanwhile, must have mistaken Dave's silence for a tacit threat of violence, because his complexion was now the same hue as Swiss cheese, his eyes bulging so wide they seemed ready to pop out of his skull. "I...I can't tell you-" the bartender whimpered piteously. "He'll kill me-"

"Looks like this guy needs a little more persuasion," Jeff remarked calmly. He pulled back the hammer of the gun. "Maybe if I shoot him in the kneecap-"

"Hey!" Dave interjected sharply. He held up his hand, shooting the Hunter a reproving glance. "Back off a second, okay?" Jeff's features immediately twisted into a sour pout, as if to say: _You're no fun_... - but he obligingly lowered the handgun, backing away from the trembling bartender.

The vampire swung his gaze back toward Ted, taking a step forward and closing the distance between them. The blond-haired young man instantly let out a strangled cry that was almost a sob. He was shaking like a leaf in the wind, not even seeming to notice the dark wet blotch staining the crotch of his jeans - reading his mind would have been unnecessary; it was obvious that the poor guy was teetering on the brink of what remained of his rationality.

In the back of his mind, Dave could hear that pessimist little part of his psyche speaking up, proclaiming that this wasn't going to work; that Jeff had struck this poor sap too hard too fast, and driven out any information he might possess right along with his sanity.

But just as he had done countless times already in the last twenty-four hours, the vampire shoved that inner voice aside, silencing its equivocating whine. Maybe it _was_ true - but nevertheless, he had to _try_; for himself, for Mickie, for their unborn child.

_He had to try_.

Dave reached out, putting his hand on Ted's shoulder. "Ted, look at me." he commanded gently. The bartender instantaneously obeyed. Dave squeezed his shoulder, his fingers sinking in forcefully but not painfully, his dark irises boring into the blond-haired kid's wide frightened ones - and then, with a mental motion not unlike the physical one of throwing a javelin, he _pushed_ his mind forward into Ted's.

Almost immediately, he had to fight the reflexive urge to scream - every single one of the bartender's thoughts was swathed in layers of panic and terror, and just the singular act of being inside his head was like being in the midst of a mental mosh pit. But the vampire merely gritted his teeth, steering his mind through the chaos like a ship navigating through stormy waters, focusing his will on that faint beacon of sanity he could sense still burning within Ted, projecting it outward just as he had done countless times before with his own prey...

_Ted...tell me where she is..._

Ted's pupils dilated totally, the black eclipsing the colored part of the iris. His mouth moved, the words pouring out of him in a toneless, almost robotic rush. "In Randy's office, in the corner, there's this flight of stairs. At the bottom is a room - a basement, really. When Mickie first...showed up...that's where he kept her...and where he's keeping her now."

Like a tape measure slithering back into its case, Dave yanked his mind free from Ted's, and the bartender slumped as the vampire's control left him, his head drooping and sagging down against his chest. As Dave was wondering what exactly he should say by way of thanks, he realized that the blond-haired young man was still speaking, a note of ever-growing desperation bleeding into his monotone voice: "Before Mickie...and even _after_ her...I've seen him...Randy...take _girls_ down there..."

Ted hesitated, gulping down a breath. "...and whenever they came back up, I could just _tell _that he-"

The bartender's shoulders suddenly began to shake, and without warning, he burst into helpless sobs, tears rolling down his youthful face and plopping on the ground. Dave's first anxious thought was that his uninvited trek into Ted's mind had severed the blond-haired kid's surviving lucidity - but after a second or two, he realized that what he was actually witnessing was the collapse of Ted's toughness, his bravado...and along with it, whatever residue remained of his misguided loyalty to the Viper's Pit owner.

The bartender sniffed loudly, wiping his dripping nose on his sleeve. "Randy, h-he's out of control - _he killed Cody-"_

At the mention of the dark-haired young man, Dave felt a chill, as though a layer of frost had formed on his insides. Truthfully, part of him had always known, deep down, that Mickie's abduction meant Cody had to be dead - but somehow, that instinct couldn't prevent the shock from washing over him, from momentarily ripping him out of the present and back into the past.

_Things are probably going to get pretty hairy...so if you don't think that you can lie for us-_

_ Mick...it's cool, all right? Don't worry about me..._

The vampire could still recall his first impressions of Cody; how he had initially pegged the bartender as stupid, cowardly - and how both of those impressions were in fact the farthest things from the truth. Cody had been impulsive, yes, perhaps even a little naive...but when he had had the chance to run, the dark-haired young man had refused, choosing instead to put himself in harm's way-

_He might seem like a coward...but he's not...not deep down where it counts..._

_ -_not for any promise of a reward-

_Whenever I look at her...I see what used to be there..._

_ -_but simply because he had loved Mickie just as much as Dave did.

_If I fail Mickie again this time...I won't be able to live with myself..._

With a start, Dave yanked himself back to the present. As much as it sickened him to do so, he could not afford to dwell on Cody's death at the moment - not if he wanted this crazy scheme he was currently embroiled in to actually succeed.

The vampire swallowed hard, forcing his features back to their original configuration of stony indifference. He leaned down, until his face was level with the blond-haired young man in front of him. "Listen to me, Ted," he ordered softly.

At the sound of his voice, the bartender looked up, swiping hastily at the tears pouring down his face. Dave's eyes bored into his. "Go home, all right? Go home, pack a bag, hop the next bus, and get the _fuck_ out of this town. Understand?"

Ted nodded, peering at the vampire with a sort of hopeful eagerness. Without offering so much as a goodbye, he pushed past Dave, bolting out of the alley and disappearing around the corner. The big man stood there for a long moment, staring wordlessly at the small visible patch of street at the mouth of the alley.

"He'll be all right," Dave didn't even realize that Jeff had moved up beside him until he spoke. The rainbow-haired man shrugged. "He's a coward...and cowards always seem to somehow land on their feet."

He shot a glance over in the vampire's direction. "Funny, though - I put a gun to his head, and I get _nothing_. You just _look_ at him, and he tells you everything." The corner of his mouth twisted upward in an amused smirk. "You put the whammy on him, didn't you?"

To this, Dave snapped his head to the side, his dark eyes narrowing as he favored the Hunter with a glare. "_Shut up_," the big man growled. Stalking past the rainbow-haired man, he yanked open the rear door leading to the Viper's Pit.

Jeff watched him go, his expression still bearing its look of faint bemusement. "Hey, I'm not judging you! I'm a pretty open-minded guy-"

But the vampire had already disappeared inside.

* * *

Maria pushed the wad of bills across the surface of the unsteady wooden table, then pulled her hand back, nervously fingering the identical chunky bracelets adorning each of her wrists. Randy accepted it, counted it, then reached into his front shirt pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag of white powder, pushing it toward the redhead with two fingers. Maria snatched it from him, barely glancing at the tiny bag as she shoved it into her jeans pocket.

"Aren't you going to check it first?" the Viper's Pit owner remarked mildly. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at the redhead. "I could be ripping you off."

Personally, Maria didn't give a damn whether the substance in the bag was cocaine or powdered sugar, because she was throwing it down the sewer drain as soon as she left the bar. Nevertheless, the computer tech flicked her gaze back up toward the blue-eyed man, trying to outwardly maintain her demeanor of uncertain poise. "I trust you - my friend said you were solid."

The corner of Randy's mouth curled upward into a smile that was not quite a smile. "_Solid _- that's not _exactly_ the word most people use when they talk about me." His azure irises bore into Maria's emerald ones. "I'd like to meet this elusive _friend_ of yours sometime - since she speaks so highly of me-"

"Maybe we'll stop by and have a drink this weekend," Maria replied, just a little too quickly, fighting the reflexive urge to kick herself for her minor slip-up. Playing the role of decoy was nothing new to her - she had done it countless times before, in situations far more precarious than this - but she had seen enough well-laid plans go south to understand that it usually wasn't one big blunder that tripped you up and showed your hand, but rather the little things; the tiny idiosyncrasies that gathered together and coalesced into one glaring inconsistency.

The redhead had only been around Randy Orton a short time, but already, the Viper's Pit owner struck her as someone who made very few mistakes...and missed even fewer. She could feel it in the weight of his scrutinizing stare; in the emphasis of each of his carefully chosen words. She had already made one mistake - a minor insignificant flub, but a flub nonetheless - and she was betting that she could not afford to make any more.

Because Maria had formed another impression - one which had arrived much quicker than the other one - and that was that the man sitting across the table from her was evil.

Pure, absolute evil.

She remembered reading about black holes once, about how they absorbed everything around them - even light. That was how she felt sitting in this man's presence - it was as though he was drawing everything into himself and giving nothing in return. And those _eyes_; those flat, dead eyes that genuine emotion never seemed to touch...

It was a notion based more on intuition than intellect - Cena would have dismissed it immediately - but the redhead _knew_ that it was dead-on. Because she had encountered evil before - though it had worn a different face then - and still had the jagged scar running down her back to prove it.

Maria averted her gaze, staring down at the floor and clearing her throat awkwardly. "Well...I should get going..." She pushed her chair back, trying not to flinch as the legs scraped against the floor with a harsh _SCREECH_. "A pleasure doing business-"

"Hold on," At the sound of Randy's voice, the computer whiz froze. The Viper's Pit owner's voice was still calm, still contained at least the _illusion_ of affability...but there was something different about it now - something that Maria couldn't hear, but she could _feel_.

Randy leaned forward, clasping his hands together and resting them on the tabletop, his stare never wavering from the redhead. "There's no reason for you to rush off so _soon_ - you should stay awhile so we can get..._better acquainted._"

His voice _changed_ slightly on the last two words - like a trapdoor cracking open to reveal a glimpse of what lurked beneath the floorboards - and it took everything Maria had not to shudder. The redhead lifted her gaze warily, hoping that that same apprehension wouldn't bleed into her voice as she spoke. "Why? You don't seem like the type of guy who's into small talk."

The Viper's Pit owner shrugged. "I'm not, actually." His smirk tightened. "But I _am_ a businessman, and as such...I like to know _who_ I'm doing business with." Again that flash, that _glimpse_ of unspeakable darkness, and Maria felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

He had made her - every instinct, every nerve inside her body was screaming as much. He had made her, and now he was toying with her, prodding her ever-so-slightly so as to send her tumbling into the hole that she herself had dug.

Maria's first thought was to flee - the logical part of her brain, the _Hunter_ part, was already racing ahead, scrambling to calculate how many seconds and how many steps it would take her to leap from her chair and run for the door. But instead of obeying her body's natural inclination, the redhead remained in her chair, staring back at Randy as steadily as she could.

They were depending on her - Jeff, Dave, _Mickie_ - counting on her ability to keep the Viper's Pit owner distracted. She couldn't desert them; her only option now was to continue playing the game and hope that she could drag it out long enough for them to get the scarred brunette out of this place.

That...and pray that when the game eventually _did_ spiral out of control...she would be able to handle it.

The computer whiz laughed nervously. "Me? I'm nobody-"

"Oh, I'm _certain _of _that,_" Randy interjected smoothly. "But not the nobody you _claim_ to be." Without warning, in a blur of motion that Maria barely registered, he reached over the table, grabbing her wrist and yanking it toward him.

The redhead gasped. The Viper's Pit owner's fingers were icy, his grip as powerful as steel. She wanted to scream, struggle, _something _- but she couldn't; her entire body had locked up, seized by a kind of fearful paralysis. Her pulse was thundering in her ears, deafening her, and with each throb of her heart, she felt the present give way and the past momentarily shimmer through, like an ineffable mural hidden beneath an innocuous veneer of paint-

_...Escobar towering above her, fangs bared..._

_ ...His eyes, bright with cocaine and madness..._

_ ...The straight razor in his hand, its rectangular blade already wet with blood...HER blood-_

Randy, meanwhile, leaned in closer, his voice growing softer but losing none of its terrifying affability. "See, angel, you may walk the walk, talk the talk, but you can't fool me - because no self-respecting party girl would set foot outside her house with hands that look like _this_." With his free hand, he tapped the redhead's slender fingers, indicating her bluntly-cut, unpolished fingernails.

The Viper's Pit owner went on, still maintaining his iron grip on Maria's wrist. "You've got calluses on the tips of your fingers - you do a lot of typing, which means you works with computers. You may _act_ helpless, but the way you _move_...you've had martial arts training - judo, probably, or Brazilian ju-jitsu; something where size and strength aren't a factor-"

Maria barely heard him - Escobar's thick accent was in her ears, the fury and insanity in it undiminished by time-

_Puta, voy a matarte..._

_ I'm going to kill you, bitch..._

Randy's azure irises bored into hers, his smirk vanishing, the fake geniality abruptly leaving his voice, and a cold ugly tone taking its place. "You're not a _cop_ - cops know better than to come around here - and you're not some clueless bimbo who just wandered in off the street."

His grasp on her wrist tightened painfully, and the redhead had to bite the inside of her lip to keep herself from crying out. "So then..._who ARE you_?"

* * *

The stairway was right where Ted said it would be - a short flight of concrete steps that led down to a basement level. Any assumptions that the area beneath the Viper's Pit was unused, however, were belied by the windowless reinforced door blocking the entranceway.

Dave pressed his ear against the barrier's cold metal surface, listening for any sounds of life or movement in the space beyond. "Mickie?" he whispered softly - the last thing any of them needed was for Randy to hear them down here. There was no answer. The vampire gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the dread already solidifying in the pit of his stomach - that they had come too late - and tried again, as loudly as he dared this time: "Mickie? Are you in there?"

For a few awful seconds, there was nothing...then, weakly: "Dave? Is that you?" A low hoarse sob. "Oh, _God_, Dave - get me out of here-"

"Hold on, Mickie, okay?" Dave interjected soothingly. "Just stay calm - we'll get you out." He pushed the door; it refused to budge. Locked - and the vampire had a sinking feeling that the only key was safely tucked away in Randy's pocket. He glanced back at the rainbow-haired man behind him. "Can you pick the lock on this thing?"

Jeff shot him a scornful look that seemed to say: _Do I LOOK like I know how to do that?... _The Hunter shrugged off one of the shoulder straps on his pack, rummaging around inside. "Hang on - I have some C4 in here-"

Dave rolled his eyes; somehow, he wasn't surprised. "Never mind," The big man made a distracted shooing motion with both hands. "Just...stand back."

Puzzlement appeared on the rainbow-haired man's features, but he complied, hopping a few steps further up the stairwell and out of the way. Taking a deep breath, Dave raised his foot, and summoning all of his supernaturally-enhanced strength, kicked the door as hard as he could...

* * *

Both Randy and Maria jumped at the muffled _BANG_ that seemed to echo throughout the Viper's Pit. The blue-eyed man immediately looked toward the redhead, icy wrath blooming on his features and robbing them of attractiveness they might normally possess, his deep voice a seething hiss. "You _little_-"

That was all he got out before Maria shoved the edge of the table into his abdomen, forcing the wind out of him and loosening his grip on her arm. The computer whiz sprang to her feet, sprinting toward the closed door.

She was just reaching for the knob when Randy's chair slammed in her back full-force, knocking her to the floor. Still struggling for breath, the Viper's Pit owner dropped his makeshift weapon, grabbing a handful of Maria's scarlet tresses and yanking her up to her knees.

Despite the dizziness and the haze of bright spots swimming across her vision, the redhead still struggled to free herself...that is, until she felt the cold hard bite of the gun muzzle dig into her temple.

Randy's mouth pressed against her ear; his voice, though still breathy, resuming its original smarmy confidence. "You made a _big mistake_ by trying to screw with me."

His tongue touched her ear, and Maria felt sour bile climb up her throat. "And I'm going to _make sure_ you live just long enough to regret it."

* * *

Grunting slightly with the exertion, Dave snapped the connecting chains on both sets of handcuffs, freeing Mickie from the metal bed frame. As soon as he did, the scarred brunette wrapped both arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely, her small body shaking with repressed sobs. "I thought...I was never going to see you again..." Her alto voice was thick and choked. "I thought...I was going to die here-"

Dave returned the embrace, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent, her warmth. However, as much as he wanted to savor this moment of reunion, he knew that right now, they had to keep moving. . There was no way his assault on the door could have gone unheard - right now, they had to get out of here, and _pray_ that Maria would be able to hold Randy off long enough for he and Mickie to put some distance between them and the Viper's Pit.

The vampire carefully pulled Mickie up into a sitting position, propping her against the bed frame. He drew back, taking both of her hands in his, his gaze lingering for a second or two on the bandaged stump where her left index finger had been before sliding up to her face. "Can you walk?"

He immediately hated himself for asking; the scarred brunette looked even worse than she had a few days ago - as though it was a struggle just for her to remain conscious. But just as he was about to correct his error, Mickie nodded slowly. "Yes."

Surprise must have visibly registered on Dave's face, because the brunette's lips curled upward in a familiar sardonic smile - a ghost of the real thing, but a smile nonetheless. "I walked in here...three years ago - I don't care if it _kills _me...I'm walking _out_ of here."

Privately, Dave thought that was a little extreme, but he didn't argue - just seeing Mickie regain a little of her previous fire, after so much had already slipped away, filled him with the faintest twinge of hope.

Carefully, he helped Mickie don the few pieces of outerwear he and Jeff had grabbed from her apartment before coming here. In her long black coat, with her golden brown locks tucked up under the cadet hat, she looked almost exactly as she had the night they had first met, evoking a wave of _deja vu_ in Dave that was filled with both wistfulness and foreboding. The vampire wrapped his massive arms around her. "Hold onto me, okay?"

The scarred brunette obeyed, clinging to him as they stood in unison. She sagged against him like dead weight, and Dave kept expecting her feet to suddenly give out beneath her any second, but Mickie stubbornly held her own, maintaining her footing as they exited the basement prison and ascended the stairs.

Jeff was waiting for them as the pair emerged from Randy's office, impatiently bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. "Come _on_!" the rainbow-haired man whispered urgently. "We don't have much time-"

"_Wrong_." All three of them froze as Randy's voice, as flat and wintry as a sheet of ice, floated up out of nowhere. The trio turned as the Viper's Pit owner emerged around the steep slant of the main stairway, dragging Maria along in front of him. One tattooed arm encircled her slender neck, while the other pressed a gun to her head.

His blue eyes swept across his adversaries, taking in the scarred pregnant brunette, the rainbow-haired Hunter, and finally coming to rest on the powerfully-built vampire. "What you _have_...is no time at all."

For an excruciatingly long second, no one moved. Finally, Randy cleared his throat deliberately. "I suppose you can guess what the current situation is. Take a step toward me, and she's dead. Take a step back toward that door, and she's dead."

His azure irises never left Dave's. "In fact, the only option you have is to send Mickie over here and _leave_ the way you _came_ - otherwise, I'll splatter this cunt's brains all over the floor." To punctuate his threat, he jammed the gun even tighter against Maria's temple, forcing her head awkwardly to the side.

The Viper's Pit owner let out a harsh laugh, his handsome features twisting into a sneer. "I do have to admit, Dave, _this_ is more cavalry than I expected you to show up with - but once again, I've proved that you are _out of your league_ when it comes to me."

The vampire stared hard at Randy, his stony countenance never flinching. "_Let her go_."

Incredulous scorn flitted across the blue-eyed man's face. "_Right_, like I'm _really_ going to do what you _tell_ me." He shook his head, clicking his tongue admonishingly. "_You're _not the one with the _gun_, big man - _I _am."

His azure irises narrowed to tiny accusing slits. "This is all your fault, you know? You should have listened the first time - you should have walked away, gone back to your nice apartment, and screwed your vamp girlfriend's brains out." Randy's smirk deepened. "I met her, by the way. Melina? She's got quite a mouth on her - but once you muzzle her, she gives a pretty decent fuck."

A note of sadistic pleasure crept into his voice. "Not _quite_ as nice, though...as what I used to get from _Mickie_."

As the cruel words passed between his lips, Dave felt hot scorching rage hurtle through his entire body, as though the blood in his veins had been transformed into molten lava. A veneer of red tamped down over his vision, and for a heartbeat of time, he almost lost control; almost crossed the short distance between them and ripped Randy's head right off his neck.

_Almost_...but he didn't...because that loss of restrain was _exactly_ what the Viper's Pit owner wanted.

Instead, the vampire swallowed his fury, his face flushing and the muscles in his jaw twitching with the effort. His reluctant self-discipline was not lost on Randy, whose grin widened. "Oh, _that_ struck a nerve, didn't it? You ever think about that when you're fucking her - that I _broke her in_ for you?"

Dave didn't answer, but his huge body trembled with barely contained rage. Like a snake tasting the air, Randy's tongue darted out, gliding along his bottom lip. "You want to hurt me? Go ahead." He cocked back the hammer of the gun. "Let's see if you can move faster than a bullet-"

"Don't listen to him!" Maria abruptly blurted out. The redhead sucked in a breath, her green eyes wide and slightly glazed with terror. "Forget about me - just get her out of here-"

"_Shut up, bitch_!" the Viper's Pit owner roared, and the computer whiz instantly complied, whimpering softly. Randy flicked his gaze back toward the vampire. "Mickie's not going anywhere." At this, the scarred brunette let out a low moan, and clung even tighter to Dave.

The vampire clenched his teeth, keeping all of his focus on Randy. "You shoot her - and you're _dead_. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, but _you_ won't let it get that far," the Viper's Pit owner shot back derisively. "And you know why? Because beneath that macho exterior, you're just a _pussy _with a set of fangs. Deep down...you're _weak_."

Randy's voice grew softer, but lost none of its contempt. "And _that's_ why I'll always be better than you. _You..._you think that all lives are worth saving - but I _know_ that _life_, ultimately, is _meaningless_...and besides, you can't make an omelet without breaking some eggs."

His finger tightened on the trigger. "But you always _were_ a slow learner, Dave - maybe what you need is a _demonstration-"_

The Viper's Pit owner's words dissolved into a hoarse thready scream as two serrated segmented blades pierced through his forearm, shredding tissue and muscle and bringing forth a dark spurt of blood. Maria flicked her wrists, and the blades withdrew, collapsing back into her pair of chunky bracelets. Without breaking motion, the redhead grabbed hold of Randy's forearm, using the blue-eyed man's size and weight to flip him over her shoulder and onto the floor.

The gun went flying, sliding across the floor with a loud atonal clatter. Maria dropped down, planting both of her knees on Randy's chest. She flicked her wrist again; the blade shot out once more. She pressed the tip of it against the base of Randy's chin, forcing his head up. "Move, and I'll open your throat," the redhead spat.

With effort, Randy opened his eyes, staring with dazed astonishment at the diminutive female who had overpowered her, her expression tight with cold relentless intensity - and then, his azure irises abruptly rolled back to white as Jeff's boot slammed into the side of his head, knocking him unconscious.

The rainbow-haired man had his gun out, the barrel trained steadily on the Viper's Pit owner. He shot a look at Maria, the corner of his mouth curling up in a wry grin. "You sure waited until the last second," he remarked dryly.

The redhead shot him a look that was equally droll. "I was trying to pull my head back enough so I wouldn't stab myself in the face." She jerked her wrist, and the serrated blade retracted back into its sheath.

Jeff glanced back toward Dave and Mickie. The vampire and the pregnant brunette were both staring at the tableau with identical expressions of open-mouthed stupefaction, as though neither of them could believe what they had just witnessed. The Hunter raised his eyebrows in amusement. "What?" He shrugged. "I told you - 'Ria here can take care of herself."

The rainbow-haired man jerked his head dismissively back toward Randy. "The two of us'll deal with this douchenozzle, make sure he doesn't bleed to death - though, if you ask me, we'd be doing the universe a favor."

His countenance sobered. "The van's parked two blocks north of here, on Columbus - Cena and Phoenix are with it." Jeff's gaze shifted from one to the other, settling on Dave. "Can she make it that far?"

The question was clearly referring to Mickie, and it was the scarred brunette who answered: "Don't worry about me." The pregnant young woman swallowed hard, but the look in her eyes was calm and lucid. "I'll make it."

The Hunter stared at her for a long moment, then gradually nodded, tacit approval flitting across his features. "All right, then." His emerald irises shifted back toward the vampire. "Take care of her, big man."

Dave returned the gesture. "I will." Holding Mickie tightly against him, the vampire made his way slowly but purposefully to the door, shouldering it open and stepping out into the autumn night.

Jeff looked over his shoulder, but all he was able to see was one last glimpse of Dave's massive back before the pair disappeared into the surrounding darkness.

* * *

The two remaining team members were sitting silently in the unmarked white van - Beth in the driver's seat, John in the empty back - when there was a knock on the side.

Hunching over, the lead Hunter moved to the back of the van, popping open the rear doors. He immediately scuttled back as Jeff appeared, Maria right behind him. The daredevil Hunter had the unconscious form of Randy slung over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, which he ungraciously dumped onto the dirty carpeted floor of the van.

Cena glanced briefly down at the senseless Viper's Pit owner, silently taking in the bloody tourniquet wrapped around his arm. His emotionless blue gaze flicked up toward Jeff. "Do I _even_ want to know?"

The rainbow-haired man shrugged. "Guy said a lot of stuff - _including _crossing paths with Melina." He nodded down toward Randy. "Figured between that and what he does for a living, this scumbag could give us some useful information."

Jeff paused, peering past the lead Hunter into the shadowy recess of the van. "Where's...Dave and Mickie?"

A small muscle twitched in Cena's face. "Weren't they with you?"

The rainbow-haired man emphatically shook his head. "No, 'Ria and I were preoccupied with _this_ asshole; I sent them on ahead..." His voice trailed off as the implication finally dawned on him. "I fucked up, didn't I? Fuck! _Fuck_!"

Cena shook his head, his handsome features tight with anger. "I _knew_ I couldn't trust that fanged _freak_-"

"I don't think he ran away," At the sound of Maria's tentative tone, the two men looked over in her direction. The redhead gnawed nervously on her lower lip, her green eyes wide. "I _saw_ Mickie - she could barely stand up on her own. He wouldn't risk something happening to her-"

"So...if he didn't run out on us..." the lead Hunter interrupted, his voice almost forcibly patient. "...where is he?" He looked from one team member to the other, his face slowly sagging as the obvious solution dawned on him. "No..."

"She was looking for Mickie," Beth spoke up from the front seat. She turned around to face him, her countenance and voice tightly controlled. "This guy Randy was doing business with her - she's _smart_, John. Even if he _didn't_ tell her, she would have figured it out on her own."

For a second or two, Cena didn't move, didn't _breathe_...then, without warning, his stoic expression crumpled into one of anguish and anger, and balling his hand into a fist, he slammed it into the interior wall of the van, again...and again...and again.

"Whoa, whoa! Boss, _stop_!" Jeff leaped into the back of the van, while Beth extricated herself from the front - together, they grabbed Cena's arms, wrestling him back against the opposite side of the van.

The blond-haired woman grabbed his face in both of hers, peering deep into his eyes. "We'll get her back, John."

"Beth's right," Jeff interjected quickly. "We found her before - we can find her again."

For another indescribable amount of time, there was nothing - then Cena stirred, sitting up and running both hands over his closely cropped hair. His voice was distant, as though he had all but forgotten about his team members' presence. "You're _right_; we _will_ find her."

He looked to the side, his steely azure irises settling on the unconscious Viper's Pit owner. "And _this_ time...I know _exactly_ where to start looking..."


	37. Chapter 37: Marry the Night

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I'm really going to try to get them out faster now, with the story being so close to its conclusion. I don't know if this chapter was necessary...but damn, I enjoyed writing it, so there we are. ENJOY! PEACE!**

**Thank you to **AprilGilbert1996, Thatpersonthatreads, Shandy777, Esha Napoleon, BigRedMachineUK, **and **Girl on Fire **for reviewing the last chapter! YOU ROCK! LOVE YOU!**

* * *

Chapter 36: Marry the Night

"_I'm a soldier to my own emptiness..." - Lady Gaga, "Marry the Night"_

They called it "the room".

It was located in another set of empty storage units, adjacent to the building that housed the base of operations for Cena and his team. Like its counterpart, the walls had been knocked down between the individual units, creating a much larger space, and the makeshift electrical grid Jeff had constructed extended to this structure as well. Unlike the base, however, the cement walls and floor of this place remained bare, unfurnished; the locks on the doors leading into it located on the outside, rather than the interior.

It was a room, after all, that served a very singular purpose.

Every one of the team's bases - there were dozens of them, scattered all over the country - had a space like this; a spartan chamber where the walls were soundproofed and the floor was scrubbed clean; the one location in their headquarters where there were no cameras. It was always separate from the base itself, and even when it was unoccupied, all of the Hunters unconsciously gave it a wide berth.

Not because they were superstitious...but because some things can never be washed away.

Ash dissipates in the wind; even blood can be eradicated with enough bleach - but emotion _stays_. It _lingers_, leeching into the walls and floors and becoming a part of the structure itself. It was the reason that all of them, even Cena, avoided that room like the plague - because every time any of them stepped foot inside, all that pain and desperation and _death_ rose up out of every surface like a noxious miasma, clogging their nostrils and subtly blurring their black-and-white world into shades of gray.

All of them had been inside that room, at one point or another. All of them had done things, crossed moral boundaries, committed acts that haunted them as much as the atrocities they had endured. And no matter how cold and merciless they became inside that room...it was not uncommon for them to puke their guts out as soon they stepped outside.

Perhaps it was because the room was the most telling evidence, more than the battle scars etched on their bodies, of what grief makes us capable of doing. Or maybe, even more than that...it was a harsh reminder that, even if they won the war, if they succeeded in exterminating every bloodsucker on the planet...they could never have normal lives after this, because too much of their hearts and souls had already been irretrievably lost.

Stolen away by tragedy...or willingly exchanged in the hunt for vengeance.

As Jeff had once remarked dryly - grief makes monsters of us all.

* * *

The harsh blue-white glow of the bare bulbs cast strange shadows on the low ceiling, throwing an almost otherworldly illumination on the figure seated in the center of the room.

Randy groaned softly. His head was pounding, and his left arm in particular was throbbing like a mother, as though someone had shoved razor blades length-wise through his skin. He slowly lifted his head up, sucking in a pain-filled hiss as the slight shift in position sent a wave of dizziness and nausea coursing through him. But instead of relinquishing him to the sensation, the Viper's Pit owner merely gritted his teeth and pried his eyelids open.

After so much darkness, the initial gleam of light was dazzling, but Randy's eyes acclimated quickly, sweeping almost perfunctorily over his surroundings, taking in the austere gray walls and floors, the stark lighting, the door several yards away with no handle or knob.

The Viper's Pit owner's head was still swimming, but he impatiently shoved it aside as he tried to recall what had happened to him. He remembered the bar, of course; the gun, pressed to that traitorous bitch's head. He remembered gloating, as he prepared to pull the trigger-

And then...pain - absolute, indescribable agony that overloaded his senses and sent all remaining rational thought spiraling into incoherence. The last lucid memory he had, before blackness had bloomed upward and consumed him, was lying on the floor, the icy bite of a blade digging into his neck, and that red-headed cunt glaring down at him...

_Move, and I'll open your throat..._

Randy clenched his teeth, his blue eyes narrowing to small slits. It was _more_ than just losing Mickie yet _again_ - it was the fact that, for the second time in as many days, he had been overpowered. By a _woman_.

Defeat...that was one thing. Defeat at the hands of a creature who bled for a week and didn't die...that was a whole other kind of outrage - and in the back of his mind, he told himself that if he ever encountered that red-haired whore again, he would shove the gun up inside her and pull the trigger...

The Viper's Pit abruptly ended the thought, pushing it back to the farthest corners of his subconscious. As pleasantly warm as this fury was, it would serve him no purpose, and he had more pressing concerns on his mind - namely, how to deal with his current predicament.

Randy flicked his gaze up toward the ceiling as he coldly assessed his situation. He was seated in a metal folding chair; a quick exploratory shake with his uninjured arm informed him that he was handcuffed. A second, more insistent shake revealed that his captors had taken no chances - he had been handcuffed him to the chair as well.

Just as the Viper's Pit owner was trying to determine how to get around _that_ particular problem, the door opened and Cena stepped into the room.

Randy's gaze shifted downward, silently watching as the lead Hunter strode toward him, his army boots making muffled thuds on the concrete floor. Cena halted right in front of the chair, staring impassively down at the Viper's Pit owner. Randy met it without flinching, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into a smirk. "John Cena, I presume?"

Cena's stoic expression didn't change. "Where's Mickie?"

The Viper's Pit owner's sneer widened just a touch. "Who?" he remarked, his deep voice a portrait of smarmy unwitting innocence.

_WHAM_! Cena's fist caught him right in the cheekbone, snapping his head back and rocking the chair up onto its back feet. Without breaking motion, the lead Hunter grabbed hold of Randy's shoulder, simultaneously digging his fingers into the Viper's Pit owner's skin and preventing the chair from tipping over. Leaning down until his face was level with Randy's, he spat his words out with brutal precision: "_Where's Mickie_?"

"_Fuck_!" Randy shook his head rapidly, trying to shake off the effects of the blow. He glared up at Cena, a welt already swelling outward from the spot where the lead Hunter's knuckles had connected with his face. "Why are you asking _me_? _You_ had her last..."

The Viper's Pit owner's voice trailed off as the realization finally sank in, his irritation giving way to his prior unctuous confidence. "_Oh_...oh, I _see_. You _lost _her...didn't you?" He shook his head, clucking his tongue reprovingly. "See, _this_ is what happens when you trust the word of a _vamp_-"

His smug admonishment suddenly died away to a startled gurgle as Cena grabbed him by the throat, tipping the chair back onto its hind legs again. "_Don't_ play dumb with me," the lead Hunter commanded, his tone frigid and unforgiving. "We _both_ know you're too smart for that." He released his grip; the chair wobbled back and forth dangerously for a second or two, but remained upright.

Cena took a step back, his azure irises never wavering from the man in front of him. "You made Maria by her _fingernails_ - I'm willing to bet you knew _exactly_ what had happened to Mickie the minute you woke up here. So I'm going to ask you again-"

He paused for a second, resting one hand lightly on his gun belt. "_-where is she_?"

A long indeterminable moment crept by. Eventually, Randy shrugged, the movement almost nonchalant. "I don't know."

Cena didn't just grab him by the throat this time - he shoved him backwards as hard as he could. The chair tipped over and crashed, Randy's head bouncing sickeningly off the cement floor. The lead Hunter kicked the chair, knocking it onto its side. Crouching down, he grabbed the other man's wounded arm, his fingers probing the bandaged appendage. "Where'd she stab you, anyway? Was it _here_?" His exploratory poke evoked a faint groan from the Viper's Pit owner. Cena kept going, his thumb hovering over a spot where blood had soaked into the bandage the heaviest, staining the cloth a deep crimson. "No...I bet it was _here_."

Without warning, he dug his thumb into the open wound, twisting sharply. Randy howled in pain, squirming around as frantically as his restraints would allow. "Mother_fucker_ - I don't _know_ where she is! I _swear_-"

"But you know who took her!" Cena interjected. He yanked his thumb out, wiping Randy's blood off on his fatigues with faint distaste. "You said so yourself - you were doing business with that bloodsucking bitch-"

"Who, _Melina_?" the Viper's Pit owner shot back. "_She came to me_ - I don't know where from, and I never bothered to ask. She _paid _me to find Mickie and that waste of fangs Dave. Okay, yeah, I _fucked _her - but it was just _business_. That's all it _ever_ was...until-" He hesitated.

"Until _what_?" Cena pressed relentlessly.

Randy's azure irises shifted slightly, meeting his - despite the pain and defiance etched across his handsome features, those eyes remained flat and dead. "Until I _found_ Mickie," the Viper's Pit owner went on. "and realized there's more going on than just a simple lover's quarrel."

Cena's stoic countenance twitched ever-so-slightly. "What are you talking about?"

A ghost of his former scornful smile darted across Randy's face. "_Now_ who's playing dumb?" he drawled, his deep voice containing only the faintest hint of sarcasm. He twisted his head to the side, staring up at his captor. "You _know_ about her - know that that brat inside her's half-vampire." The Viper's Pit owner paused, a thoughtful note creeping into his voice. "What do you think...something like that is worth?"

To this, the lead Hunter said nothing. Randy must have taken his silence for speechlessness, because he went on: "You know what Melina is like, right? Pretty to look at, but you can smell crazy on her a mile away." His voice dropped to a satisfied whisper. "So why should I hand Mickie over her for a few _thousand_ when the ones she answers to will pay me a few _million_?"

Cena drew back, his unreadable expression giving way long enough for a hint of disgust to flit across it. Grabbing hold of the chair back, he hauled it - and Randy - back upright without ceremony, returning it to its original position. That done, he turned away from the Viper's Pit owner, locked his hands together behind his head as he paced toward the opposite side of the room.

Randy watched him sullenly, cracking his neck back and forth and wincing slightly. "What is Mickie James to you, anyway?" he asked, his tone hovering somewhere between resentful and intrigued. "Sister? Cousin? Old girlfriend?"

Cena didn't stop, nor did he turn around. "I know you won't understand, so I won't even bother explaining it to you."

"_Really_?" Perverse enjoyment seeped into Randy's voice, and the blue-eyed man smiled. "So it's like _that_, then?"

This time, the lead Hunter halted, but still kept his back turned. "Your sick mind can believe what it wants to - I don't need to explain myself to _scum_ like you."

"Uh-huh," Randy grunted dismissively. He cocked his head to the side, his bright blue eyes glued to the muscular form of the lead Hunter. "So...since you're _aware_ of the situation...have you given any thought to what you're going to do next? I mean-" The Viper's Pit owner shrugged. "-_assuming_ that kid doesn't burst out of her stomach like one of those Alien movies."

He leaned back against the metal folding chair. "Even _if_ she makes it through this - she's _still_ going to turn, _regardless._" He paused, the absence of sound deliberate. "Will _you_ be the one to put her down?"

Cena looked back over his shoulder, his azure irises boring into those of his adversary. "I'll _do_..." the lead Hunter intoned, his tone holding only the faintest hint of strain. "...what's _necessary_."

The Viper's Pit owner shrugged again, the motion as infuriating as his tone. "Not that I _care_ one way or the other - it doesn't change _my_ life any." He leaned forward a little, as much as the cuffs binding his wrists would allow; his tone growing soft, conspiratorial. "Personally, though, I wouldn't hold it against you if you _did_ end up letting her go - from what _I've_ heard, it wouldn't be the _first _time you failed to _finish the job_."

For a moment, a _heartbeat_, Cena's impassive expression cracked, his features sagging in genuine surprise. Randy leaned back again, his tone warming with contemptuous pleasure. "See, I heard this story - a _rumor_, if you will - that you _used_ to be a regular guy, that you didn't even believe vampires _existed_...until one attacked your wife."

The Viper's Pit owner planted both feet on the floor, rocking the chair back slightly. "Now, either this vamp had _no _idea what he was doing, or else your wife was stronger than she looked - _either way_, she was able to fight him off and make it back home with only a few nasty bite wounds. And _being_ the dutiful husband that you _were_, you called the police, you patched her up - you went on with your life."

Randy paused, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. "But then...she started to change."

By now, Cena had regained enough control over himself to force his features back into their original stony expression, but his entire body was rigid, almost trembling with tension. The Viper's Pit owner continued. "You _have_ to have known what was happening to her - the way she avoided sunlight, took off her wedding ring because the silver was irritating her skin, the way she was hungry all the time - just like you _knew_ what had to be _done_."

Randy paused again, his mouth curling up in a smirk. "But you didn't...because you _loved_ her too much to let her go. So you ignored it, you pretended that it wasn't happening, _convinced_ yourself that you would be able to handle it before it got out of control...and then, one night, you came home to find her up in the nursery, cradling the body of your son-"

The lead Hunter barely heard him; in his mind's eye, all he could see was-

_-the blood, splattered on the walls, the crib, the stuffed blue football that Zachary loved..._

_ -her bent head, the ends of her long blond hair obscuring the body in her arms...but not the tiny white hand, the fingers curled in death..._

_ -the tears rolling down her face, mingling with the blood staining her mouth, and her voice, high-pitched and pleading..._

_ **"I couldn't help myself, Johnny...I was so**_**_ hungry_-"**

Randy paused, lifting his shoulders up and down nonchalantly. "-but then again, what do _I_ know? It's just a _rumor_." He grinned; in the weird light, his expression seemed wolfish. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me what _really_ happened."

Slowly, Cena straightened up, turning around fully to face his handcuffed adversary. His face was stretched so tight that his skin seemed in danger of splitting along the seams, and his voice was thick with effort and restraint when he spoke. "My _wife_...is _dead_."

"Really?" Randy drawled. He leaned forward even further, his voice becoming more sadistic, more savage. "Is _that_ what you know to be _true_...or just what you tell your team so they won't know just how much of a _coward_ you really are-"

The roar of the gun drowned everything out. Randy flinched involuntarily; the round rocketed past him, missing his ear by less than an inch, lodging in the far wall and sending up a shower of tiny stone fragments. Cena stormed toward him, grabbing him by the back of the neck, forcing his head back, and jamming the barrel against his forehead. His countenance was no longer stoical; there was nothing in it now but pure murder. "I should..._kill you_," the lead Hunter growled. "For the things you've done, for what you did to _her_-"

"So why don't you?" the Viper's Pit owner retorted tauntingly. He nodded his head slightly. "Go ahead - pull the trigger. It's not the _killing_ that's hard - that's the _easy_ part - it's everything that comes _after_ that you can't deal with!"

His azure irises fastened onto Cena's, as fathomless as the deepest parts of the ocean. "You feel it, don't you? The emptiness, the void, the _lack_ of...anything at all? Most people, they fear it, but _you_..._you_ know, just like _me_, that all it does is make things..._clearer_. _Simpler_."

Randy shook his head, his expression pitying. "It must be so hard - lying to your team, having to _fake_ a response so they won't know just how much you truly _don't_ _care_. They want this war to end, but _you_ - you want it to keep going, because it's not the fighting, but _normal life_ that scares you. Because this war has _allowed_ you to be who you _really _are - a cold-blooded killer."

The Viper's Pit owner stopped, eyeing his captor thoughtfully. "You and me...we're a lot alike."

The lead Hunter vehemently shook his head. "I'm nothing like you-"

"Bullshit," Randy interrupted mildly. "The only difference between you and me is that I _embrace_ the darkness, while you fight it - but what you _fail_ to understand is that neither one of us would _exist_ without it. So go ahead-" He jerked his chin up toward the .44 Desert Eagle. "Kill me. Blow me away at point-blank range, and say you're doing the world a favor. All you'll do is _prove me right_ - prove that the reason you kill...is because you _enjoy_ it."

Silence reigned over the windowless room. Seconds ticked by, then minutes - then Cena finally lowered the gun, his arm sagging back down to his side. With his other hand, he dug into the front pocket of his fatigues, pulling out a small ring of keys. The lead Hunter moved around to the back of the chair; there was a CLICK, and Randy felt the cold steel rings encircling his wrists relax.

The Viper's Pit owner pulled his hands free, gingerly massaged his wrists. He glanced up, his countenance brimming with scornful satisfaction as Cena came back into view. "Just as I expected-"

That was all he got out before Cena brutally pistol-whipped him with the butt of the .44 across the face, knocking him off the chair and onto the floor. The lead Hunter stared down at him, his handsome face revealing nothing as he carefully re-holstered his weapon. "Bet you weren't expecting _that_." he remarked to his now-unconscious adversary.

At that moment, the door burst open and Maria came barreling into the room. "Boss! Boss, I-" The redhead ground to a halt, her mouth dropping open at the sight of Randy. "Holy _shit_! Did you kill him?"

Something that could have almost been a smile flickered across Cena's mouth. "No."

"Oh." Maria's features sagged in disappointment, and she shrugged. "Too bad. Anyway - I ran over here because...I located the signal."

The almost-smile vanished, and Cena straightened up. "Where?" he asked, his demeanor now all-business.

"The northeast corner of the city, in the warehouse district-" Maria's voice faltered momentarily as the lead Hunter strode past her out into the night. She ran after him, practically jogging in order to keep up with his unrelenting pace. "It's weak, but I narrowed it down to a block radius-"

Her superior stopped, looking back at her. "You couldn't get any closer than that?"

Maria lifted her shoulders in another helpless shrug. "It's the best I can do. Those transmitters weren't designed to operate inside a body - let alone a _vampire _body. It's amazing it lasted as long as it did - that was some idea of yours-"

Cena waved his hand, cutting her off. "Listen to me," he ordered. The redhead immediately obeyed, snapping her mouth shut. The lead Hunter pointed back toward the storage building they had just emerged from. "Go back there, keep an eye on that piece of shit until I send Jeff over with the other van to cart his ass over to the ER and dump him there. Beth's coming with me - as soon as we're all gone, you get inside the base and you _lock this place down_."

He stared hard at the computer tech. "You stay on headset at all times - anything comes up that looks or sounds or even _smells_ like Mickie or Melina or her two suckboys - you let us know ASAP. Understand?"

Maria nodded. "Of course."

"Good." The lead Hunter pulled out one of his .44s - the one marked _REGRET NOTHING _- and ejected the clip, checking the ammunition before ramming it back home.

"Because one way or another, this thing fucking _ends tonight_."


	38. Chapter 38: Run This Town

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! Woohoo, this was a fun one to write - that's all I'm going to say; just enjoy! PEACE!**

**Thank you to **therealchamps, Thatpersonthatreads, Nastygrl25, AprilGilbert1996, Girl on Fire, **and **Shandy777 **for reviewing! You know that I love each and every one of you! HUGS! HUGS AND PUPPIES! PEACE!**

* * *

Chapter 37: Run This Town

"_Can't be scared when it goes down/Got a problem, tell me now/Only thing that's on my mind/Is who's gonna run this town tonight..." - Jay-Z, "Run This Town"_

* * *

_ ...So here we are now - awaiting extermination, staring death in the face - all because of one chance encounter; because of one night when you walked into a bar, and I happened to be there..._

_ In a way, it's almost ironic. You and I...we wanted no part of this conflict, this war - and here we are, caught right in the middle of it because of the feelings we have for one other; because they ultimately turned out to be stronger than all of the defenses and rules and barriers we had erected around ourselves. _

_ I used to think - even back when I was still human - that this world was too big and too random for anything we did to ever be of consequence..but now, after everything that's happened, I realize just how wrong that assumption was. This world...it's small; so, so small...and we're all connected - you, me, Randy, Melina and her pets, Cena and his team - all of us. We're all part of a web - touch one part of it, and you feel the vibrations all the way on the other side. _

_ All the little things...the tiny missteps we thought were insignificant...how quickly they snowball out of control into catastrophe. If I hadn't left Cody's apartment...or if I had killed Melina instead of just walking out on her...then maybe neither one of us would be in this situation right now. _

_ But it's more than just that - the roots of our current predicament go much deeper. Maybe if you had left the club when Candice begged you to...you might have escaped the clutches of my former "family". Maybe if I hadn't left Melina four years ago...she might never have met Miz or Morrison._

_ Maybe if your brother had found some other avenue to channel his grief...you might never have left and he would still be alive._

_ Maybe if I had turned down Melina's offer to follow her into that dark alley...I wouldn't have become a vampire in the first place._

_ Or maybe...it wouldn't have changed anything. Maybe everything had to play out exactly as it did...because that was the only way you and I could meet._

_ That's the one thing I can't accept; the one thing I will never accept - that in order to find me, you had to lose everything first. I've lost everything, too - but I walked away from it, whereas you never had a choice. It's not fair. They say that love is about sacrifice...but not at this cost. Never at this cost. _

_ That's the one thing I would give back to you, if it were possible. If I could go back and change the past so that you would never have to experience this madness - even if it meant never meeting you, never holding you again or even seeing your face - I would without hesitation._

_ Love is sacrifice...and I would sacrifice every moment I've shared with you if it meant that you could live the rest of your life happy, intact, and unscarred-_

"This silent treatment of yours is getting old, big man," Miz's sneering tone cut through Dave's reverie, yanking him out of his recollections and back to the present, but the vampire didn't move; gave no indication that he was even listening. His mohawked adversary leaned back against a nearby support beam, picking his fingernails as he eyed the big man with unveiled contempt. "I'm growing a little tired of this game."

He pushed himself up, his footfalls casting faint echoes on the cement floor as he stalked toward Dave. "Why are you being so stubborn, huh? We _saw _you go into Randy's place with them - you made a deal, didn't you?"

Miz halted, crouching down until his face was level with the big man's. "What did you offer them in exchange for that _pathetic_ junkie bitch? Me and Mor? _Mel_? All three of us?" His voice dropped to an ominous whisper. "You really think that selling out to _them_ makes you _better_ than us? Take a look in the mirror, _Dave_ - as far as the Hunters are concerned, you're _still_ just another vampire; they'll still put a bullet in your head first chance they get." He shook his head. "Why are you protecting them?"

Dave didn't reply; didn't indicate that he was even listening. Miz's features twisted with impatience and rage, and he grabbed the vampire's chin, forcing his head up. "_Answer_ me, you piece of _shit_!"

The big man, however, remained mute; his dark eyes - barely visible amid the swollen, bruised tissue surrounding them - staring dully through his captor. Miz let out a low frustrated snarl and released his grip, rising to his feet and storming away from his adversary. "We're getting _nowhere _with this! We should just _waste_ this fucker and be done with it-"

Morrison, who was seated on a nearby stack of wooden pallets, massaging his bruised knuckles, immediately straightened up, fearful concern flitting across his handsome face. "Bro, chill out," the brown-haired vampire interjected cautiously. "Remember, Mel said-"

"_I know what Mel fucking said_!" Miz roared. He whipped around to face his partner, fangs bared, eyes burning red in the darkness. "Don't-"

His voice abruptly trailed off as a new sound drifted up from the big man - the unmistakable burble of pained laughter. Both Miz and Morrison turned to look at their captive, who lifted his head, peering at them with what could have been bitter amusement. "What's the matter, you two? Trouble in paradise?"

Beneath the dark lens of his aviator sunglasses, Morrison's eyes narrowed. "None of your _fucking_ business-" the brown-haired vampire growled.

Dave's mouth twitched. "You're right - my mistake." His voice was thick and slightly slurred thanks to the loss of his fangs. His lips curled upward, forming something that was less a smile and more an agony-filled rictus. "I didn't know, though, that she was getting tired of you already - guess that, with _two _of you, the novelty wears off twice as fast-"

This time, it was _Morrison's _features that flushed with fury, _Morrison's_ lips that drew back to reveal his tapered canines. Before he could storm forward and deliver a response in the form of more physical punishment, however, his mohawked cohort grabbed his arm, preventing him from doing so.

"Hold on, Mor," Miz's voice was soft, and unnervingly calm. "Why don't you duck outside and check in with Mel - let _me_ deal with the big man." He looked over at his partner, his mouth warped into a strange smile that was almost as terrifying as the evenness of his tone. "Don't worry; I'm not gonna let Mel down - he'll still be..._intact_...when you get back."

For a moment, Morrison looked as though he wanted to argue with that suggestion, but the brown-haired vampire merely pressed his lips together in a thin line, crossing the room and digging a cell phone out of his back pocket as he ducked out the single entryway.

As soon as the sound of his booted feet on the metal stairway faded away, Miz's discomforting smirk vanished, and drawing back his foot, he kicked the captive vampire full-force in the face. There was an ugly _CRUNCH _of cartilage as Dave's nose finally broke, and the big man's head snapped back, smacking painfully into the steel support beam before flying forward again. The mohawked vampire clamped one hand over his face, forcing his head up at a painful angle..

"You _worthless_ sack of _shit_ - you _shut your mouth_ about her!" Miz snarled. His blue eyes gleamed red; the hot fetid stench of his breath was suffocating. "You think you can lecture _me - _that _you_ were somehow _special_?" The mohawked vampire leaned down even further. "_Everything_ you did was half-assed, _including_ trying to kill her."

By now, Miz was on a roll, so he didn't notice the big man's bloodied features crease in confusion. "Word of advice, _fuckface_ - next time you're aiming for the heart, _aim lower_."

"What are you..." Dave's strained voice suddenly dissolved into another thick liquid-filled laugh as comprehension bloomed on his face. "_Oh._" With visible effort, he shook his head. "That crazy bitch...she _would _do that-"

Now it was Miz's turn to look totally bewildered. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," The vampire sagged a little, his head drooping back against the support beam as he stared up at Miz. "I'm sure if _that's _what Melina _told _you happened, then it _must_ be the _truth_." Despite the guttural slur of his voice, there was no mistaking the sarcasm in his tone.

"What are you implying?" the mohawked vampire demanded. "That she _lied_? To _us_?" Miz vehemently shook his head. "Mel wouldn't lie to us; she _loves_ us-"

"Then why is she already looking to replace you?" the big man shot back. At this, Miz's features went slack with shock, and he released his grip on Dave, stumbling back a step or two - it was obvious that the defiant retort had stunned the mohawked vampire into speechlessness.

Dave rushed on. "That guy Randy from the Viper's Pit? The one who sent you to Mickie's apartment, the one you _paid_ to find me? He's been fucking her." The corner of his mouth jerked upward, forming an almost-smile. "Fucking her...and _bragging _about it."

Miz's mouth moved, but no words emerged. A plethora of emotions flitted across his face - surprise, anger, denial...followed by a kind of distressed awareness. "No..." the mohawked vampire whispered, and in that single syllable, Dave heard a raw anguish that - just for a second - stripped away the viciousness and the cruelty, making Miz seem less like a monster and more like a little boy who has just learned that Santa Claus isn't real.

_He really loves her..._the big man thought to himself. _Miz...he may be a murdering rapist and a sadistic bastard...but if there's anything even remotely good about him...it's the way he feels about Melina. _

_ He loves her...and he'll do anything not to lose that feeling..._

Miz, meanwhile, was shaking his head, still lost in that initial haze of shock. "No...she _wouldn't..._I don't _believe _you!" Without warning, his features warped with wrath and he strode forward, grabbing Dave by his shirt with one hand and yanking him bodily up to a standing position.

The big man teetered, his legs already buckling beneath him, but Miz didn't notice; he was too busy screaming. "He's _lying_ - and so are _you_!" He jammed his face right into Dave's. "You...you're just _jealous_ - you always have been! That's why you tried to kill her-"

"_Jealous_?" Dave interjected incredulously. "You really think I'm here right now because I'm _jealous_? I _walked_ out on Melina - that's right, _I _left _her_ - and when I did, she was alive and well!"

He braced one foot against the steel beam for support, peering hard at the mohawked vampire. "Why are you _really_ mad, huh? Is it because you _think_ I'm lying - or because you _know_ I'm telling the truth? Because she already come home one night smelling like _him_, and when you asked, she told you that _nothing happened _- and you _believed_ her!"

Miz fell silent, a sullen comprehension flickering across his features. Dave slowly shook his head, his expression pitying. "You sad little fucker...you really haven't figured it out, have you? The only person Melina cares about - the only one she's _ever_ cared about - is herself. You and Morrison...she doesn't love you. You two aren't _special_ - you're just _new_, and she'll get tired of you, too, eventually."

Straightening up as much as he was able, the big man stared his adversary in the eye without flinching. "One night...you'll come home to find your stuff in boxes by the door - and Randy in her bed-"

The punch to his gut doubled him over; the captive vampire sagged forward, the iron manacles restraining his hands the only thing keeping him from falling flat on his face. Miz grabbed him by the throat, slamming him back against the support beam. "_Listen up_," the mohawked vampire growled. "Mor and me? We're not going _anywhere_. We're gonna be with her _forever_...once we get rid of a little _dead weight_ first."

Miz's lips pulled back from his fangs in a wicked grin. "See, I was lying about you walking out of here - even _if_ you tell us what we wanna know, we're still gonna kill you. But before we tear you limb and limb and piss on your ashes, I'm gonna make sure that the last thing you _ever_ see is what Mel's done to your _precious _Mickie."

The mohawked vampire leaned in close, until his mouth was next to Dave's ear. "And if you think what Mor and I did to her was bad...just _wait_ until Mel's through with her-"

His taunt became an agonized howl as Dave's teeth sank into his ear. Miz thrashed around, frantically trying to free himself, but the big man hung on with the fierce persistence of an attack dog, the coppery bite of his captor's blood filling his mouth.

Planting both hands on his captive's massive chest for leverage, the mohawked vampire managed to push himself back; there was an ugly sound of tearing flesh, and blood immediately began to stream down the side of his head. Miz clapped one hand over the mangled stump where his ear had been, his countenance a combination of disbelief and pain. "You crazy _fuck_!" he managed to gasp out. "Why'd you-"

That was all he got out before Dave calmly spat the bloody wad of cartilage and skin into his face. Miz stumbled back, letting out a faint girlish squeal of disgust. Rage quickly replaced the stunned surprise, and he lunged toward his captive. "_Fucker_! I'll _kill_ you-"

With a low deadly whistle, the arrow shot out of the darkness, burying itself in the meat of Miz's shoulder. The mohawked vampire bellowed in pain, his legs buckling but not giving out entirely. Miz twisted out, his eyes wildly scanning his surroundings, one hand groping upward in a panicked attempt to locate the barb. "Who-"

At the far end of the room, Beth calmly notched another arrow into her compound bow. "You must be _Miz_," the blond woman remarked. "You can call me Phoenix." She hoisted the bow up, drawing the string back and taking aim. "Mind if I join the party?"

In spite of his agony, Miz's eyebrows came together in a furious snarl. "_Bitch_!" the mohawked vampire spat. Beth let the second arrow fly, but this time, Miz was able to avoid it, ducking and rolling in an almost imperceptible blur of motion and disappearing behind a labyrinthine arrangement of shipping containers.

Dave's legs finally gave out, and he slumped back down to the floor. Beth immediately ran over, kneeling down in front of him and setting down her bow. With effort, the big man lifted his head, peering at the female Hunter through the blood and swollen tissue obscuring his vision. "How...how'd you find me?"

"It's a long story," Beth reached out, hesitantly touching the vampire's face, turning his head slightly to either side as she took in the full extent of his injuries. "Jesus..." was all she said.

Dave coughed, the spasm forcing blood up into his mouth. "Cena with you?"

"We split up to cover more ground," The blond woman's tone was crisp and business-like. She peered hard at Dave. "Where's Mickie?"

The vampire slowly shook his head. "She's not here - Melina has her." As he spoke, his limited vision caught a flicker of movement; one that was just a little too deliberate to be either a trick of the light or a product of his pain-induced mental fog.

Dave's eyes bulged with panic. "Look out-"

Before Beth could react, an arm wrapped around her neck, dragging her back and forcing her up to her feet. With his other hand, Morrison removed his aviator sunglasses, casting them aside as he eyed the struggling woman in his grasp. "_Well_," the brown-haired vampire drawled. "What do we have _here_?" There was an oozing suggestiveness in his tone that made Dave's blood run cold.

Beth's pale blue eyes narrowed to small slits, and with one swift brutal motion, she rammed her elbow into Morrison's abdomen. The brown-haired vampire instantly doubled over, and the female Hunter slammed the same elbow back into his jaw, tearing loose his grip on her and knocking him back a step or two.

The blond-haired woman pivoted smoothly, simultaneously pulling her gun from its holster and bringing it up to aim. Morrison, however, had already recovered; before Beth could complete the movement, he grabbed her wrist, wrenching it sharply to the side. The blond woman let out an involuntary cry of pain, the firearm slipping from her fingers and clattering against the floor. Balling his other hand into a fist, the brown-haired vampire punched her in the face.

Now it was Beth's turn to stagger backward, dazed from the blow. Morrison stalked after her, kicking the gun away as he did so - Dave could hear the rasp of metal against concrete as it slid across the floor. He grabbed her by the throat, hoisting her up until her feet dangled off the ground.

The female Hunter grabbed hold of his wrist with both hands, her face turning pink, then red, as she gasped for breath, Morrison's fingers digging into her neck hard enough to bruise. The brown-haired vampire cocked his head to the side, eyeing her with bemused interest; with his other hand, he gingerly massaged his jaw. "You're a feisty one, aren't you?" he remarked.

His lips pulled back from his teeth, revealing his whitened fangs. "I like that."

As he spoke, the agitation evaporated from Beth's expression, replaced by an icy robotic calm. Bringing up both legs, she kicked out as hard as she could; both of her booted feet caught Morrison square in the balls.

The brown-haired vampire's eyes bulged, a strangled yelp emanating from his throat. He let go of Beth, sagging to his knees as he clutched himself with both hands. The blond-haired woman hit the ground shoulder-first, coughing as she struggled to suck oxygen back into her body.

Lifting her head up, she spied the gun, less than ten feet away. Beth shot a cautious glance toward Morrison, but the brown-haired vampire was still cupping himself and moaning, his eyes full of that particular agony that only a shot to the testicles can evoke.

Scrambling on hands and knees, moving more out of instinct than any sort of coherent awareness, the female Hunter crawled toward the weapon. She stretched her hand out; her groping fingers touching the butt of the gun-

A powerful hand clamped around her ankle, dragging her back. Still wincing a little, Morrison roughly flipped her over, straddling her waist, pressing one hand against her throat as he held her down. The brown-haired vampire's eyes blazed red in the darkness. "_Cunt_!" he snarled, leaning down even further. "You're gonna _beg_ for your _life_-"

He never saw Beth move; only felt the muzzle of the gun dig in under his chin, followed by the unmistakable _CLICK_ of the hammer being drawn back. Morrison's wrath quickly drained away, leaving behind dread and understanding.

Beth's expression was devoid of emotion...but her pale blue irises were full of murder. Her lips moved, spitting out only two words: "_You first_."

She pulled the trigger. The back of Morrison's head exploded outward in a spray of blood and brain matter that rapidly disintegrated into ash as it hit the floor. A split second later, the rest followed suit; the limbs sagged, the skin turned gray and chalky, the facial features lost their definition - and with a low sigh, like the whisper of leaves in the wind, the corpse of the vampire known as John Morrison crumpled to the ground in a heap of ash and clothing.

Dave felt his breath catch in his throat. He knew what happened when a vampire got killed, but he had never actually witnessed the death of his kind before - certainly not like _this_; up close and intimate. And while he had despised Morrison; while he was glad that the brown-haired vampire was dead - he couldn't get over how _quick_ it had been. One moment, Morrison had been flesh and blood and _living_, the next..._nothing_; a pile of dust the only proof of his existence.

Beth clambered backward, smacking at her ash-coated clothing with visible disgust. "I _hate_ when that happens," she remarked, though Dave couldn't tell if she was speaking to him or merely to herself.

"You all right?" the vampire hear himself ask. At the sound of his voice, the blond-haired woman looked up sharply, as though she had completely forgotten about his presence.

Her mouth twisted up into a wry smile. "I'll live." The female Hunter gave her dusty clothes a few more half-hearted slaps, then made it to her feet, massaging her bruised throat as she stepped around the vampire to the rear of the support beam. "Let's get you out of here..." Her voice trailed off suddenly, and Dave heard her suck in a sharp breath. "_Shit_!"

Flinching with the effort, the big man twisted his head around to either side, trying to get a glimpse of what she was looking at. "What? What's wrong?"

He heard the faint _clink_ of metal links as Beth nudged the manacles with the toe of her boot. "Where are these from, the Dark Ages? These are _iron_ - there's no _way_ I can shoot through them." Dave caught the faint creak of joints as she crouched down. "This lock doesn't look too terribly complex, though - maybe I can pick it-"

The thought remained unfinished, unfortunately, as Miz suddenly materialized out of the shadows, grabbing Beth by the hair and throwing her backward effortlessly. The female Hunter hit the adjacent wall spine-first, all the air expelling her lungs with a forceful _PAH_, before sliding down and slumping forward onto her stomach.

Before she could rise, Miz was on her, stepping on the back of her neck and forcing her head against the cement floor as he stared down at her. He was breathing hard, dried blood caked to the side of his head, his features so warped with rage that they were barely recognizable as human.

His voice was soft, filled with both disbelief and outrage. "You killed him. You killed Morrison. You fucking _bitch_!" This last epithet was punctuated by a vicious stomp to the back of Beth's skull. The blond-haired woman's head bounced sickeningly off the concrete, her eyelids fluttering, her pale blue irises already starting to roll back to white.

He dropped down, pressing one knee into Beth's shoulder blade, the other on her arm - the bad one. Immediately, the female Hunter gasped in pain, flailing around as she struggled to relieve the stress on the weakened limb.

Miz smiled, running his tongue over the tips of his fangs. "Mel told me all about you, _Phoenix_," the mohawked vampire sneered. He brought up his other arm; in it was clenched the arrow Beth had shot into his shoulder, dark red blood still oozing off the silver barb. "You sure like to shoot these at people, _don't you_?"

He lifted up the projectile, its pointed tip aimed downward at Beth's unprotected face. "Maybe it's time you learned what it feels like."

His arm trembled as it prepared to descend...and that was when the skylight exploded inward as someone crashed through it.

Cena didn't even wait until he hit the ground to start firing; Dave instinctively crouched down as bullets sang past him. The rounds didn't just hit Miz's arm - they practically obliterated it, tearing huge holes in the muscle, splintering bone, and leaving behind little more than a protuberance of useless bloody tissue.

The mohawked vampire screamed, a shrill piercing shriek that seemed to go on and on. The lead Hunter's boots crunched against the shards of glass as he landed. Without breaking motion, he strode toward his prey, flipping the gun around and slamming the butt of it into the side of Miz's head, simultaneously knocking him off Beth and silencing his high-pitched keening.

Cena knelt down, extending his hand to Beth, who was already pushing herself back up to her knees. "How're you-"

Beth waved off the query, as well as the proffered hand. "I'm fine," she managed to spit out between forceful coughs. With one arm, she gestured helplessly in the direction of the big man. "But Dave-"

Before she could finish the sentence, the lead Hunter whipped out his other gun, firing a single shot at the support beam. The round hit the iron chain connecting the manacles, severing it and freeing the captive vampire. Beth blinked with surprise, snapping her mouth closed. "Never mind."

Cena rose, moving around the beam and crouching down in front of Dave. For a long moment, he said nothing; only eyed the big man with an unreadable expression. Eventually, he cleared his throat. "How're you feeling?"

Even though it hurt, Dave couldn't repress the sardonic laugh that burbled up out of him at the rhetorical question. "Fantastic - thanks for asking." He nodded toward the lead Hunter. "So...how'd you know where to find me?"

Cena reached out, gun in hand, and the vampire reflexively flinched, but the lead Hunter merely tapped the barrel against the side of his neck. "We have these homing devices that we designed - real tiny, almost microscopic. Up until now, their use has been solely external - clothing, machinery, electronic - but when I tased you back at the base, I had this crazy idea: why not see if it works inside a living being?"

The lead Hunter withdrew his arm. "The incision healed before you even woke up - it's right under the skin; you can probably feel it."

Dave gingerly probed his neck with two fingers - sure enough, he _could_ feel it; a small hard lump that was too irregular and out-of-place to be bone.

Cena shrugged, his expression stoically resolute. "Nothing personal - it was just an insurance policy. You know, in case you were planning on double-crossing us.." His voice trailed off as another husky chuckle rumbled upward from deep within the vampire's chest. The lead Hunter frowned. "What's so funny?"

Dave shook his head. "N-nothing," He lifted his hand, wiping tears of mirth from his swollen face. "I've just never been more happy to know that you don't trust me."

Cena's mouth twitched, almost becoming a smile, and he holstered his guns, extending his hand to the vampire. Dave accepted it, and with the lead Hunter's aid, was able to make it back up to a mostly-upright position.

Cena cast a cursory glance around the vast confines of the warehouse. "C'mon, let's go-" he began, but the vampire waved him off. "Wait - not yet." the big man insisted.

He didn't look at the lead Hunter as he spoke, and following his line of sight, Cena realized that he was staring at the writhing form of Miz, still moaning and clutching what remained of his wounded arm. The lead Hunter impatiently pulled out one of his .44s. "I'll take care of this-"

Before he could fire, Dave grabbed his wrist, gently but forcibly shoving his arm down. "No, _I _will," He turned, meeting Cena's gaze, and even in the dim light, the lead Hunter could see the animosity and fury burning in his dark eyes like an inferno. "_Let me finish it_." the vampire intoned.

Cena stared at him for several long seconds, then nodded slowly and stepped back, stowing his weapon back in its holster. Steeling himself against the inevitable pain, Dave moved toward Miz, his feet thudding softly against the concrete, his gait only slightly unsteady.

The mohawked vampire pried his eyes open as the massive shadow fell over him, but was powerless to do anything more than whimper as Dave grabbed a handful of his shirt and yanked him up, throwing him against the wall with enough force to rattle his bones. "D-don't hurt me, _please_-"

"_Where's Mickie_?" the big man interrupted roughly, shoving his face right into Miz's.

The mohawked vampire cowered, stark terror and pain eclipsing everything else - the beast had fled; only the human shell remained. "Mel's g-got her-"

"_Where_?" Dave's voice was practically a roar.

Miz's features crumpled, as though he was on the verge of tears. "B-back at the apartment - it's the _truth, _I _swear_!" He stopped, his blue eyes wildly scanning his adversary's face. "You're...you're not gonna kill me..._are you_?"

"What do _you_ think?" the big man growled, his eyes flashing red in the faint light.

Miz's lower lip quivered, frightened tears filling his eyes. "Dave...old buddy...c'mon_..." _he ventured, his voice shrill and quavery. "What we did to you...it wasn't _serious_! It was nothing _personal_!I mean, c'mon_..." _The mohawked vampire swallowed hard. "It doesn't have to be like this - if you let me walk out of here...I'll give you anything you want-"

"Miz, Miz, Miz..." Dave shook his head; his voice was soft, conversational. He reached up, patting the mohawked vampire almost affectionately on the cheek. "The only thing I _want_ from a miserable little shit like _you_...is the last three years back."

His expression hardened, becoming as unyielding as stone. "The three years...that you _stole _from _her_."

With that, he plunged his hand into Miz's chest, shattering ribs, his fingers closing around the pulsating object of his quest. He yanked his hand back out, and the mohawked vampire's mouth opened and closed soundlessly, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of his own still-beating heart clenched in Dave's fist.

The big man shoved the organ into his adversary's face. "You were _right_," he remarked. His fingers clamped over the heart, squeezing until he felt it turn to powder against his palm. "_Aim lower_."

Dave was able to witness the stunned surprise that flitted across Miz's face before the mohawked vampire disintegrated into ash, the gray dust wafting outward in a small cloud as his clothes hit the floor. Dave stared at the pile for a long moment, then slowly opened his hand, watching dully as the pulverized remains of Miz's heart drifted down to join the rest of him.

The vampire backed away, grimacing as he wiped his hand off on his pants - even in death, he wanted no part of Miz. He made it one step, two...then, without warning, his legs collapsed beneath him and he sagged toward the floor.

Instantly, Beth and Cena were at his side, each one of them grabbing an arm and hoisting him back up to a standing position. Dave clenched his teeth, pushing back the pain and dizziness threatening to overwhelm him. "I know where she is," he gasped out. "But we have to hurry - once the sun rises, we'll be locked out-"

Cena glanced at his watch. "Shit. That doesn't give us much time." He glanced back at the vampire. "Can you-"

"Don't worry about me," Dave interjected. "I'll make it." This answer seemed to satisfy Cena, because he nodded and draped the vampire's arm over his shoulders, allowing Dave to lean on him.

As the two of them headed for the exit, Beth backing them up from the rear, a singular thought pounded through the big man's head, over and over again, like the repetitious litany of a mantra.

_Hold on, Mickie...we're coming for you..._

_ Please...just hold on..._


	39. Chapter 39: I Will Not Bow

**A/N: Okay, I know I've said this about a lot of chapters, but this one...this chapter almost broke me. I'm not even kidding. I spent three days alternating between a computer screen and my outline, putting myself in the world of this chapter - and it literally drained EVERYTHING from me. If you need me, I will be burning away the nightmares with a lot of Mystery Science Theater 3000. I REALLY hope that you enjoy. PEACE!**

**A/A/N: With only two more chapters remaining in this story, I feel it's my duty to tell you now that there will be a sequel - title and synopsis TBD; I'm just trying to get through this one in one piece first, lol.**

**Thank you to **Guest, Shandy777, therealchamps, BigRedMachineUK, Esha Napoleon, Thatpersonthatreads, **and **Girl on Fire (?) **for reviewing the last chapter - I really really do appreciate it, so much. HUGS! PUPPIES! HUGS AND PUPPIES!**

* * *

Chapter 38: I Will Not Bow

"_Were you born to resist or be abused?..." - Foo Fighters, "Best of You"_

Mickie's eyes twitched beneath their closed lids, and then abruptly flew open, darting all around as they took in every inch of her surroundings. She was lying on an overstuffed sofa, her head propped up on a pillow, in what appeared to be a large central room.

The scarred brunette felt a rush of waker's disorientation - that confused panic that swarms over you when you return to consciousness, making you unsure of what's real and what's still part of the dream. She groaned softly, turning her head to the side as she shifted position on the couch. Her gaze landed on a low wooden table less than a foot away. There was only one item on its lusterless surface - an ordinary juice glass, resting on a coaster within arm's reach, three-quarters full of blood.

Mickie stared at it, transfixed, her mind already hurtling back to the last thing she could remember-

* * *

-_Dave pulled her tighter against him, quickening his pace as the two of them made their way down the dark street. They were out of sight of the Viper's Pit, but rather than diminishing, the vampire's anxiety only seemed to have grown. His lips were pressed together in a thin line, and he kept glancing back over his shoulder with an ever-increasing frequency._

_ "What's wrong-" Mickie began, but even before the words could leave her mouth, she felt it - the prickling sensation of every hair on her body standing on end; the faint tingle of unease at the far reaches of her awareness, signaling that her subconscious had already picked up on some imminent danger._

_ Before she could voice what was already beginning to dawn on her, however, Dave beat her to it. "Someone's following us."_

_ Mickie reflexively shot a look behind her, but as she'd expected, saw only a deserted stretch of dimly-lit sidewalk. The scarred brunette bit her lip, trying to tamp down the cold ripple of panic expanding in her stomach. "What...what should we do?"_

_ "Nothing." The vampire hesitated, and Mickie felt his strong arms tighten around her even more. "Just keep moving-"_

_ His voice abruptly dissolved into a guttural grunt of pain and surprise, and without warning, he pitched forward onto the concrete, dragging Mickie down with him. The scarred brunette hit the sidewalk hip-first, the impact briefly knocking the wind out of her. _

_ Coughing, she struggled up to her hands and knees, fighting to extricate herself from the vampire's limp embrace. "Dave..." she cried, the single syllable almost swallowed up by gasps for air. _

_ Dave didn't answer; didn't even move. He was lying in a strange hunched-over position - he hadn't even caught himself when he had fallen - his face half-turned toward her. His eyes, glazed and unfocused, were already rolling back into his head, and a thin ribbon of white froth oozed from his mouth. _

_ Mickie grabbed hold over his massive bicep with both hands, shaking him as hard as she could. "Dave!" The big man didn't respond. The scarred brunette shook him again, even harder this time, hysteria bleeding into her voice and making it shrill. "DAVE!"_

_ The words died in her throat when she saw just what had caused Dave's sudden descent into unconsciousness - namely, the enormous hypodermic needle still protruding from the back of his neck...and from the shadows surrounding her floated upward the terrifying sound of cruel, all-too-familiar laughter-_

* * *

Grunting, Mickie rolled over onto her side, using the back of the sofa and her elbow for leverage as she gradually pushed herself into a sitting position. Just this simple shift, however, required more effort than she had expected, and as soon as she was upright, she sagged back against the cushion, panting with the exertion.

As she caught her breath, the scarred brunette swept her gaze all around, using the opportunity to better examine her surroundings. She was in what looked like a living room, furnished entirely in white, its decorations sparse, almost sterile - the antithesis to the smothering confines of Randy's prison in every conceivable way.

The only anomalous feature of the room was the window; the enormous floor-to-ceiling pane of glass shrouded behind a set of heavy black drapes. Mickie had no doubt that there was one hell of a view behind that wall of thick weighty fabric.

When you lived in a place with a view like that, you didn't hide it - even if you were concerned about privacy, you didn't resort to overkill and barricade yourself behind a set of stage curtains. No...the only reason you would need to block your windows like that was if there was some part of the outside you didn't want seeping in.

Like..._sunlight_.

Mickie felt part of her stomach plummet downward, like a stone tossed into a bottomless chasm. She now knew _exactly_ where she was-

* * *

_"It won't do any good."_

_ Mickie whipped her head around as the female vampire sauntered out of the alleyway behind her. Melina cocked her head to the side, nodding down at the unconscious figure of Dave. "That tranquilizer is powerful enough to take down a bull elephant - and he got a full dose."_

_ Her gaze shifted slightly, focusing on the scarred brunette. "So...Mickie." Her eyes were two red orbs in the darkness, her full lips drawing back to reveal a hint of fangs. "Remember me?"_

_ Mickie couldn't speak, couldn't scream, couldn't even whimper - her throat felt as though it had been stuffed full of sand. All she could see was Candice's head, lying in that pool of light; all she could feel was nails sinking into her skin, the scalding saltiness of her own blood as it streamed down her face-_

_ The red light faded from Melina's dark irises, and she jerked her chin upward a fraction. "Take her." _

_ Mickie felt a faint whisper of movement on either side of her, followed by strong hands grabbing her arms, dragging her unmercifully to her feet. The scarred brunette struggled, but in vain - she was still far too weak, and fear had sapped all her remaining reserves of strength. _

_ Melina watched her, her countenance mildly amused. "It's been a long time," the female vampire drawled, her heels clicking against the cement as she sauntered forward. "You look like shit-" Her smug tone faded away into silence as the edges of Mickie's long coat flapped open, revealing the swell of her pregnant belly._

_ Melina froze, an amalgamation of emotions fighting for dominance on her pristinely beautiful face. Her lips moved; Mickie could have sworn she heard the phrase: "What the HELL-" past between them. The female vampire's eyes flicked up, met Mickie's...and then, with a low snarl, she shot out one slender hand, slapping her rival hard across the face._

_ The blow knocked Mickie almost to the brink of senselessness - her eyes swam with involuntary tears and the world around her went grey as dizziness swarmed over her brain. The grip on her arms loosened and she experienced a brief moment of free-fall, collapsing awkwardly on Dave's massive back._

_ As she lay there, hovering somewhere between awake and unconscious, she heard Melina's voice, hollow and echoing, as though coming from a great distance: "Take him someplace secluded and find out what he knows. Do whatever you want - but leave him ALIVE until you hear from me."_

_ The female vampire paused, and through the suffocating haze, Mickie felt the tip of her shoe touch her swollen abdomen. "I'll deal with HER."-_

* * *

"You're awake."

Mickie looked up sharply, a startled gasp escaping her throat as Melina emerged silently from one of the darkened doorways surrounding the living room. With her short skirt and black leather corset top, her long hair tumbling down her back in black-and-gold waves, she looked like a party girl recently returned from a night of clubbing...but Mickie knew better.

Forget the blood sitting in front of her, forget the drapes - all one really needed to do to know that something wasn't right was to look into Melina's eyes...those dark eyes, so flat and dead and far too old...

The female vampire was still talking, her tone conversational, almost pleasant_. _"-I brought you in the back way - the guard at the front desk isn't particularly _bright_, but he has a bad habit of picking the most _inopportune_ times to be observant."

She stopped, her gaze flicking to the full glass on the table in front of Mickie. "You haven't touched your drink." She looked back up at the scarred brunette. "Go on - if there's one thing we don't bother with here, it's formality." Another pause, longer this time. "Drink up - you _must_ be hungry; I can see it in your eyes."

Mickie _was_ hungry - ravenous, in fact - but the last thing she wanted was to give Melina the satisfaction of knowing that fact. Slowly, she reached for the glass, trying to make a show of reluctance...but before she could stop herself, all nine of her remaining fingers were clamped around the glass receptacle and its rim was pressed against her lips as she drained its contents with deep contented swallows.

Melina watched her consume the vital liquid, her perfect features creased in faint disgust. "God, you truly _are_ pathetic, aren't you - the _worst_ of both worlds. _All_ of our thirst...and _none_ of our power-"

Mickie lowered the glass, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes sliding upward to meet Melina's once more. "_Where's Dave_?" the scarred brunette whispered.

The female vampire shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about him - he's in _good hands_. Gives us the chance to have a little _girl time_." She moved across the room, setting what looked like a rolled-up yoga mat on the low wooden table before sinking down into an armchair opposite Mickie. "You and I - we never really had a chance before to get properly acquainted."

The scarred brunette swallowed hard, trying to keep her expression as neutral as possible despite the raw terror gnawing at the edges of her reason. "What are you going to do to me?"

Melina arched one delicate eyebrow, her expression faintly bemused, as though she found the query puzzling. "Why, that all depends on _you_, of course." As she spoke, she leaned forward, loosening the tie on the cloth bundle and unrolling it across the table with a single deft movement.

Her dark eyes never left Mickie's face. "On you...and how much _trouble_ you decide to be."

The scarred brunette could actually _feel_ the color draining from her face - she had never seen so many knives in her life. Fully extended, the roll of cloth stretched the entire length of the table; there were at least fifty blades strapped to it, maybe as many as a hundred. And these weren't ordinary steak knives, either - some of the weaponry in front of her, she had thought only existed in movies or television. Some of the knives looked ancient, their hilts bound in leather; one or two looked as though they had been chiseled out of stone.

And all of them looked very, _very_ sharp.

Melina smirked, her gaze still fastened on her captive. "Impressive, isn't it?" She slowly rose to her feet, the movement deliberate, seductive, running her fingertips lovingly over the blades. "I've been amassing this collection for a _long_ time. I only pull it out now for _special _occasions - you should feel honored just laying eyes on it."

The female vampire paused, her fingers closing around one particular knife with a curved blade and handle. Pulling it out, she stepped daintily around the table, stopping in front of Mickie.

For a long moment, she regarded the scarred brunette thoughtfully, like an artist deciding which part of the canvas to paint, tapping the tip of the blade against her lower lip. Then, all at once, her beautiful countenance warped with ineffable rage, and she struck - the keen edge of the knife danced across Mickie's cheek, slicing it open almost to the bone.

Mickie never felt the actual cut itself; only the unbelievable agony as air collided with the open wound, followed by the warm wetness of blood running down her cheek. Melina smiled, her tongue darting out to lick the blood off the blade before she jammed the knife tip underneath Mickie's chin, forcing her head up.

"You should have known better," the female vampire hissed balefully. "One of the first things we learn as children is not to take things that aren't _ours_." She grabbed a handful of golden-brown hair, pulling some of it out by the roots and yanking Mickie's head back even more. "Now, Dave may be an _utter_ failure as a vampire, but he is _mine_, and _I'll _decide when I've had enough of him." Her dark irises blazed red. "I'm _certainly_ not going to let him walk out on me for some _worthless, miserable, damaged-_"

A new sound cut across her tirade - the unexpected electronic trill of a cell phone ringer. Melina froze, her eyes narrowing, her fury softening down into exasperation. "Shit." She shot Mickie a look that was almost apologetic. "Would you...hold on a minute?"

The female vampire straightened up, reaching into the bodice of her corset top and pulling out a cell phone. She glanced at the screen, then back at the scarred brunette. "Honestly, I don't understand why you humans are so attached to these things - I've had this hunk of plastic for two days, and already I despise it."

Without waiting for an answer - though Mickie doubted very much she had been expecting one - Melina turned her back on her captive, pressing a button and holding the phone to her ear. "This better be important." She stopped, listening. "Okay, slow down-"

Her voice drifted off into insignificance as Mickie's focus shifted back to the array of knives in front of her, just out of arm's reach. So many...perhaps in her eagerness to torture the scarred brunette...Melina wouldn't notice the absence of just _one_...and the next time the female vampire got in close-

She would have to be fast - from the sound of things, Melina wouldn't be on that phone forever - but unfortunately, in her weakened _pregnant_ state, speed was not exactly one of Mickie's more reliable attributes anymore.

But the scarred brunette merely gritted her teeth, shoving aside as much of the pain and the fear and the doubt as she could, because she had to _try_. For the sake of all of them - Dave, their child, and least of all herself - _she had to try_.

Gritting her teeth, Mickie attempted to sit up, trying to reorient her body into a more upright position without a lot of noise or unnecessary movement. As she did, the sofa springs _creaked_ in protest.

The scarred brunette went absolutely still, looking around fearfully, but Melina didn't turn around; she was still completely engrossed in her phone call: "-and you left him _alone_ with him? No, I _don't_ want to hear your excuses - I want you to go back there before Miz loses his temper and turns Dave into a pile of ash-"

Mickie looked back at the table - somehow, it seemed farther away than it had a second ago. Nevertheless, she doggedly reached out toward the assortment of weaponry, her fingers stretching, _grasping_. Her fingertips touched cool metal, and the scarred brunette inadvertently let out a soft triumphant cry.

She was so intent on the her task, she never heard the female vampire's flow of words cease, followed up by a muttered: "I'll call you back - I need to handle something-" - so it was no surprise that her heart nearly stopped when she felt the sole of Melina's pump press against her windpipe, simultaneously cutting off her flow of air and shoving her back against the sofa.

Melina withdrew her leg and grabbed her captive's chin, pressing the curved blade against the underside of her eye socket as she jammed her flawless face into Mickie's damaged one. "_Do not_ think for one _second_ that I left you unrestrained out of _pity_." the female vampire snarled. "Believe me, I only did it because I _assumed_ that someone in your..." A pause, one that fairly dripped with disdain. "..._condition_...wouldn't be _stupid_ enough to try and attack me."

Melina's voice dropped to a deadly whisper, her breath caressing Mickie's cheek like a hot rank breeze. "Try something like that again, and I will teach you a whole new definition of the word '_pain_'. Understand?" To this, the scarred brunette said nothing, and the female vampire angrily dug the blade in deeper; Mickie felt a sudden sharp sting as it pierced her skin. "I _said_ - _do you understand_?"

With effort, the scarred brunette nodded, her throat twitching as she swallowed hard. "I understand." She hesitated, gulping once more. "I just want to know one thing."

Melina rolled her dark eyes. "If you're asking me to let you go, you can save your breath-"

"It's not that." Mickie took a deep breath. "All I want to know is-" She paused again, before haltingly spitting out the query that had tormented her for the last three years: "_-why me_?"

A look of irritated confused flitted across Melina's countenance. "What?"

"You heard me," With effort, the scarred brunette leaned forward, glaring up at her tormentor. Just forcing her features into that expression sent flames of pain licking outward from the still-seeping wound; Mickie could feel blood oozing down her neck, soaking into her hair. "_Why me_? Out of all the places you and your _pets_ could have been three years ago...all the cities in the _world_...all the other girls on _earth_ - what was it about _me_ that was so goddamn special?"

For one indeterminable moment, there was nothing...and then all of a sudden, Melina's features crinkled in merriment, and she burst out laughing. "S-_special_?" the female vampire sputtered in between high-pitched silvery giggles. She drew back, pressing one hand against her heaving chest, her dark eyes sparkling with vicious delight. "You stupid, _stupid_ girl...you honestly _think_ that _you_ were _special_?"

She gestured at Mickie with the curved blade. "The only thing you were - the only thing you've _ever been _- was just another human, in the _wrong_ place, at the _wrong _time. My boys didn't single you out, they didn't _choose_ you - they didn't even know you _existed_ until you came stumbling out of that _nasty_ strip club_..._and when they _did_ see you...they acted purely on impulse."

Melina giggled again, the sound eerily girlish, perching on the edge of the table as she went on. "They are _marvelous_, aren't they? The world you come from would call what they do _monstrous_; would try to _cure_ them...but _me_? I don't _curb_ their appetites...I _indulge_ them_."_

The female vampire leaned in closer. "See, to Miz and Morrison...you're just another notch in a belt they've been marking long before they met either one of us. They don't remember you, and why should they - in _their_ minds, you were never anything more than an _afterthought_."

"An _afterthought_?" Mickie echoed incredulously. Her whole body was shaking, her tone hoarse with barely contained outrage and disbelief. "Is that all I am to you - just a _mistake_?" Her voice broke, tears rolling down her cheeks and mingling with the blood. "Look at me - _look at what you and those mad dogs of yours did to me_!"

The scarred brunette gestured at her face with one hand. "You _stole_ my _life_! You took _everything_ from me, and then _left _me like _this_ - with nothing but the _fear_ and the _pain_-"

"_You_ were never supposed to leave that alley!" the female vampire interrupted furiously, her tone full of a defensive indignation. She tilted her chin up, eyeing her captive with visible contempt. "What we did should have _killed_ you - it's not _my_ fault you decided to cling so tenaciously to life, or that you ended up _stuck_ between your world and mine!"

Melina rose to her feet, looming over the scarred brunette. "You want an _reason_ for what happened to you?" Her voice was soft and merciless. "How about _this_ - the _reason_ is that you and your kind are _sheep_, while me and mine are _wolves_. _We_ prey on _you_ - it's the natural order of things."

The female vampire tilted her head to the side, a smirk touching the corners of her full lips. "_Dave's_ a wolf, too, though he tries to deny it-"

"He'll come for me." Mickie's voice was nearly inaudible, but the look in her brown eyes was unwavering and defiant as she stared up at her tormentor.

Melina's sneer widened. "I doubt it. From what Morrison told me over the phone, it's unlikely that Dave will be coming for _anyone_."

The scarred brunette shook her head. "You don't know him-"

"I know him better than _anyone_!" Melina's smirk evaporated, and she grabbed Mickie's chin between thumb and forefinger, holding the curved knife in front of her face warningly. "_I made him_!" the female vampire shrieked. "He's a part of me! I know _everything_ about him-"

"Not _everything_," Mickie shot back. The next words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop herself: "You didn't know about _me_."

The scarred brunette immediately cried out as the blade descended again, slashing open her other cheek. "_One more_ disrespectful word out of you," Melina growled. "and I'll cut out your tongue next. Do you understand?" Her countenance was livid, her eyes blazing as though lit from within by hellfire. "_Do you hear me_, you _worthless whore_?"

Mickie didn't answer, _couldn't_ answer - her entire face was alight with pain. Emotions were climbing up her throat - fear, torment, misery, anger - choking her, threatening to drag her back down into the depths-

And then, all at once, everything died away into silence as a voice echoed softly through her head:

_ **Hold on, Mickie...**_

The scarred brunette froze, stunned by the sudden sense of calm spreading through her. A moment ago, she'd been on the verge of losing her mind - but now, everything was so _clear_.

This sensation...it wasn't rationality so much as just the absence of chaos. She remembered feeling this abrupt awareness once before - the night she had escaped from Randy - and just like then, she was no longer afraid, because a singular truth had been revealed to her in that moment of profound clarity.

And that truth was...Dave was still alive.

_**We're coming for you...**_

And if he was still alive...then she needed to fight.

_**Please...**_

She needed to fight-

_**Just...**_

-as though she had nothing-

_**...hold...**_

-left to lose.

**...**_**on...**_

Melina, obviously unaware of the epiphany taking place before her, let out a feral growl. "Are you even _listening_ to me, you little-" Her voice abruptly faded off into silence as Mickie's eyes met hers once more, glinting with a unflinching calm that hadn't been there an instant ago.

"I'm listening," the scarred brunette murmured. Her gaze briefly swept up and down her captor. "I just never realized-"

"Realized _what_?" the female vampire interjected churlishly.

Mickie didn't answer at first; merely stared back at her, the corner of her mouth twitching as though trying to curl up into a smile. "How threatened you are by me."

"_Threatened_?" Melina reiterated disbelievingly. She laughed again, but the sound of it was just a trifle forced this time. "_Threatened_? By _you_?" The female vampire leaned in until her mouth touched Mickie's ear. "Listen to me - I was walking this earth before you _existed_ - before your _grandparents _existed."

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I remember when the _conquistadores_ arrived on the shores of my village in their wooden ships - how we thought they were gods until they enslaved us and destroyed our home. Everyone I knew _perished_, but _I _survived - as I have _continued_ to survive." Melina pulled back, shaking her head slowly as she glared at her captive. "_You_...you are _nothing_ compared to me-"

"Then why am I here?" the scarred brunette shot back. "Huh? If I really was as _worthless_ as you say I am, you would have moved on and forgotten about me - but instead, you _kidnap_ me, you _torture _me...why would you even _bother_ if you didn't consider me a threat?"

Melina's mouth moved, incoherent sounds emerged from her throat - it was clear that Mickie's assertion had left her with no immediate retort. The scarred brunette bravely went on, the tiniest of smiles touching her lips. "Did Dave ever tell you...that I can hear his thoughts-"

"_Liar_!" the female vampire screamed. She shook the curved knife at Mickie threateningly, realization and denial struggling for control on her delicate features. "You're _lying_ - you _have _to be! It's _impossible_! Our kind-"

"-can't hear each other's thoughts," Mickie finished, her tone bitter. "I know; Dave told me - but I'm not of your kind, _am I_? You said so yourself. _I'm_ something _else_ - and I have you and your _boys_ to thank for _that_."

Melina was already backing away, shaking her head vehemently. "No..." the female vampire whispered, her expression cracking to reveal the first hints of desperation. "_No-_"

"Why not?" Mickie retorted roughly. "_You_ left me like this!" Her smile widened. "How does it feel - knowing that _I_ can hear what he's thinking while you never will?"

"Shut up-" Melina started to say.

The scarred brunette ruthlessly cut her off. "I can _feel_ how much he loves me, without him saying a _word_ - just like I can feel how much he _hates _you; how he wishes he'd killed you when he'd had the chance." She lifted her chin up a touch, her brown irises never leaving Melina's dark ones. "And I can hear _yours_, too - hear how _scared _you really are-"

"_Shut up_!" the female vampire screeched. She thrust the knife at Mickie once again, but the hand holding it was visibly trembling. "_Shut up_, you pathetic, damaged _cunt_! I'll snap your neck-"

"No, you won't," Mickie interrupted, her voice icily unemotional. "Because then it would be over too quick - and that's not what you want. You want me to _suffer_...but what you don't seem to understand is that there is _nothing_ you can do to me that would be _any_ worse than what I've endured over the last three years."

The scarred brunette shook her head slowly, almost pityingly. "Don't you _get_ it? You can't _break _me - I'm already _broken._" She paused long enough to draw in another deep breath. "And you _are_ scared - scared of being replaced, cast aside, forgotten about. _That's_ why _you_ have to be in control, why _you_ have to be the one to end it - because you can't bear the thought that someone might not want you. _That's _how I know that, despite everything you took from me, everything you have that I don't, Dave _will_ come for me, no matter _what_...because I mean more to him than you _ever_ will-"

"_Enough_!" Melina screamed, and raising the knife up over her head, clutching the hilt in a death grip, she lunged at her captive.

Mickie had almost forgotten about the juice glass in her lap; she never even actually remembered grabbing it - only the sound that it made as she swung it against Melina's temple. The glass shattered with a tinkling crash, and the female vampire collapsed to the floor, dazed, blood pouring down the side of her head.

The scarred brunette stumbled to her feet, staggering in the direction of the front door. The world around her was swaying, stretching and inverting reality like a funhouse mirror, and the only things keeping her upright were adrenaline and pure animal instinct.

But Mickie kept moving, each step bringing her closer and closer toward the apartment's egress. She reached out; just before her fingers touched the knob, she heard a low rumble of machinery, followed by a low metallic _SNAP_, like a rifle bolt slamming into a place. The scarred brunette heard the faint peals of a warning bell going off inside her, but nevertheless, she gritted her teeth, closing her fingers around the doorknob and twisting it.

The door refused to budge.

For a moment, Mickie stood there, blinking stupidly, unwilling to believe that escape was no longer possible. She turned it again, and _again_, but each outcome only brought the same result - the knob moved, but the bolts didn't. A low whimper emanated from the scarred brunette's throat as she kept trying, her countenance both frantic and stubborn...

The knife's edge touched her throat, paralyzing her to the spot, followed by Melina's vicious murmur in her ear: "You really thought it would be that easy to get away from me?" Without moving the blade, she jerked her chin toward the locked door. "Take a _good look_ - that door isn't opening until the sun goes down...and for your information, sunset isn't coming for another _eight hours_."

Grabbing Mickie by the hair, the female vampire dragged her back; as they reached the living area, she lifted the scarred brunette bodily off her feet, tossing her effortlessly into the center of the room. Mickie hit the table spine-first and slightly off-center, overturning it and sending it and Melina's collection of knives crashing to the carpeted floor beneath.

Before the scarred brunette could even begin to comprehend with the agony radiating through her entire body, Melina was looming over her, dark red blood still pumping out of the nasty head wound on her temple. "Maybe you're right; maybe I can't threaten _you_," the female vampire hissed. "But I can threaten _this_." She slashed the knife across Mickie's abdomen, cutting through her shirt and slicing open the skin beneath.

Mickie's brown eyes bulged with fear and panic. Melina slashed again, creating another bloody gash. "Maybe...I should cut it out of you; make you _watch_ as I tear it apart-" Another cut. _Another_.

The scarred brunette's brain was racing, hysteria and terror buckling it to the point of overload. It was taking everything she had not to relinquish herself to the siren sound of impending insanity and just start screaming...but one thing was stopping her.

Namely...the fact that she had landed on the bandolier of blades...and the handle of one was resting comfortably against her palm.

Melina's shrill shriek cut through the haze again: "-or _maybe_...if it _lives_...I should raise it as my own." In spite of the blood caked to her face, the female vampire smiled; the grin was both angelic and utterly horrifying. "How's _that_ for a final thought - knowing that _your_ bastard is going to grow up calling _me_ '_Mommy'_?"

The angled blade of the Bowie knife pierced Melina's cheek, severing her tongue before puncturing through the opposite side of her face. The female vampire yowled in pain and surprise, dropping her own knife in the process. Mickie didn't flinch; still holding onto the hilt with both hands, she yanked it toward her. The keen edge of the blade tore easily through the delicate skin of Melina's face, leaving gaping Joker-like slashes on either side of her mouth.

"You _bitch_!" the female vampire screeched. With only half a tongue now, the words were distorted and almost unrecognizable. "Look what you did to me-" Her furious howl was abruptly silenced for good as Mickie's next attack slit open her throat, severing her larynx in the process.

Melina stumbled back, holding one hand against her gushing throat, her ruined mouth moving silently as she struggled - without success - to speak. Tottering unsteadily on her high-heeled shoes, she retreated from the scarred brunette.

With a savage grunt, Mickie rolled over onto her side, driving the Bowie knife into the sofa and using it as leverage to pull herself up to her feet. _Everything_ hurt, but the pain seemed inconsequential at this point - the only thing that mattered anymore was ending it.

Ending it..._once and for all_.

Melina was at the window now, tripping and grabbing onto the heavy drapes for support. The Bowie knife's blade slammed into her back, and the female vampire's legs gave way entirely, pulling both her and Mickie to the ground. The scarred brunette yanked the blade out; straddling Melina's huddled form, she stabbed again...and again...and again.

Melina convulsed and twitched as the knife punctured her chest, her throat, her face...but she never made a sound - screaming was now beyond her. The only noise was the sickening juicy impact of metal stabbing into meat...mingling with Mickie's crazed screams:

"_You ruined my life, you bloodsucking bitch! It was nothing to you - but it was EVERYTHING to me! You stole everything I had, and I hate you! I HATE YOU!"_

The female vampire suddenly went limp, her body sagging back down into the carpet, blood soaking down into its fibers and turning it red. Mickie sat back, her expression vacant and shell-shocked. Her face, her clothes - everything was splashed and splattered with blood, hers and Melina's. She reached up to wipe her face, realized she was still clutching the knife, and tossed it away with a low cry of disgust.

Mickie looked around, trying to think amid the blanketing haze of shock already beginning to envelop her brain. Her gaze swept over the upended furniture, the pools of blood, the curtains-

_The curtains_.

The scarred brunette's eyes swept over either side of the massive window, and soon alighted on what she was seeking - a small control panel, with two buttons - one labelled "CLOSE"...and the other, "OPEN".

Mickie glanced back at the still figure of the female vampire beneath her. She leaned down - as far as her pregnant belly would allow, that is - her voice falling to a flat murmur: "I was wrong - I know what you're _really_ scared of."

With all the remaining strength she still possessed, the scarred brunette rose to her feet, her legs trembling with every shaky step. She reached the control panel, then turned back around, her fingers hovering over the "OPEN" button.

A few feet away, Melina stirred, struggling to push herself up to her knees. Her entire front was a mess of mangled flesh and blood; her face was almost unrecognizable. One of her eyes was gone; the remaining one silently slid from Mickie to her hand resting on the drape control panel. Her mutilated mouth moved - it almost looked like she was saying: "_No..."_

Mickie's lips trembled, tears brimming in her eyes and rolling down her bloody cheeks one by one. "Her name was _Candice_," the scarred brunette whispered. "And she was my _best friend_."

With that, she pushed the button.

There was a faint echoing rumble, and the drapes abruptly parted, releasing an ever-widening beam of bright yellow-white sunshine into the room. It struck Melina right between the eyes, and the female vampire screamed silently as her skin turned black and peeled away from her skull; as her long hair caught fire, burning away and falling off in clumps.

Melina fell back onto the floor, thrashing helplessly as flames consumed her. Her skin disintegrated completely, revealing the slick sheen of internal organs before those, too, deteriorated. The skeleton remained, briefly, the mouth of the skull agape in a death scream, sunlight glinting off the tapered fangs...and then, it collapsed completely into itself, extinguishing the fire and leaving only ashes.

Mickie wasn't sure how long she remained standing there - it felt like _years_ - but as a few silty motes of ash drifted up into the golden patch of light, she sagged against the wall, sinking slowly down to the floor.

Just as she was about to exhale in relief, however, a stabbing pain knifed through her abdomen, searing and exquisite in its agony, stealing her breath away and doubling her over. The scarred brunette felt a sudden gush of wetness between her legs; sucking in short staccato breaths, she reached down, touching it and bringing her hand back up to her face.

Her fingertips were red with blood.

Mickie tried to speak, but no words would come out. Another pain shot through her, even more acute this time, and she collapsed onto her side with an anguished moan.

Grabbing hold of the carpet, pulling herself forward inch by agonizing inch, the scarred brunette crawled toward the darkened entrance of the master bedroom, words escaping her as little more than gasps of breath.

"Dave..._please_..._hurry_..."


	40. Chapter 40: Anthem of the Angels

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! Sorry about the delay - I recently started a new job, which has my sleeping schedule all kinds of thrown off, plus I got involved in a really ridiculous and frustrating incident that ended with me being uber-depressed for a week and a half. But...I'm on vacation, the creative juices are flowing once more, and I was able to crank this chapter out. God, it almost killed me - I really hope you like it. One more to go! PEACE!**

**Thank you to** DannyBoo511, Esha Napoleon, Thatpersonthatreads, therealchamps, Shandy777, Girl on Fire, Water-Fox-Raine, Nastygrl25, BigRedMachineUK, **and **chante **for reviewing the last chapter! You ROCK and I love you ALL! HUGS AND PUPPIES FOR EVERYONE!**

* * *

Chapter 39: Anthem of the Angels

"_There is nothing left of you/I can see it in your eyes/Sing the anthem of the angels/And say the last goodbye..." - Breaking Benjamin, "Anthem of the Angels"_

* * *

_Dave...please...hurry..._

The vampire's eyes snapped open as Mickie's voice floated through his head. He'd been curled up in the back of the Hunter's van for what felt like ages, clenching his teeth every time the vehicle went over a bump or pothole, listening dully as Cena barked instructions into his Bluetooth up in the driver's seat.

He was exhausted - no, _exhausted_ was too tame a term for what he was feeling. _Decimated_ was a more accurate description of his current state of being. After weeks of living on the edge of starvation, combined with the prolonged torture at the hands of Miz and Morrison, his outwardly formidable frame had reached the limits of its endurance.

Dave was drifting in and out - his body's reserves of adrenaline and endorphins were more or less spent - but every time he started to sink down into a deeper form of stasis, the scarred brunette's voice would resonate in his skull, forcing him back to consciousness, the words different...but the distress in them always the same.

_Hurry...hurry...hurry..._

The vampire wasn't sure if the voice he was hearing truly _was_ Mickie's, her mind reaching out to bridge the physical distance between them, or merely a hallucination borne out of his fatigued and depleted state - all he knew what that he couldn't stop...not until he found her.

"How you doing back there, big man?" Cena's brusque tone sliced through his mental absorption, forcing him fully back to the present.

Dave turned his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twisting up in a wry smile. In spite of himself, he was almost beginning to think that he could _like_ the lead Hunter. "Peachy."

"Glad to hear it." Cena hesitated for a moment. "Listen...this apartment of yours... does it have a back door or something?"

There was a long pause as the vampire considered the question - he was having a hard time stringing thoughts together; his mental gears felt as though they had been gummed up with molasses. "The parking garage underneath...there's a service elevator."

"You hear that?" This query was directed at the individual on the other end of the Bluetooth transmission. "Underground garage. Service elevator. We'll be there in five."

The lead Hunter started to add something else, then stopped, and Dave could hear the muscles in Cena's neck creak as he looked back over his shoulder. "Hang in there, Dave - we're almost there."

_That's what you said last time..._the vampire thought sourly, but before he could articulate his riposte, mental fog swarmed across his brain once again, driving him back down into a numb grey limbo...

* * *

The next thing Dave was aware of was the _SCREECH _of metal as the rear doors of the van were yanked open, followed by the blinding white-blue glare of fluorescent lighting. Squeezing his eyes closed against the unexpected radiance, the vampire felt a hand gently pat his cheek, accompanied by a familiar sardonic Southern accent: "Wake up, sunshine! Put your shoes on; we're at Grandma's!"

Dave squinted up at the daredevil Hunter, wrestling with both the urge to laugh and the even greater compulsion to punch Jeff in the face. "Haven't lost your sense of humor, I see." he grumbled.

The rainbow-haired man grinned. "You need to lighten up a little, dude." His smile quickly morphed into a grimace, however, as he took in the full extent of the vampire's injuries. "_Christ_! They worked you over _good_, didn't they?" It was a rhetorical question and both of them knew it, so instead of waiting for an answer, Jeff just helped the vampire to his feet, allowing Dave to lean on him for support.

Cena and Beth joined them, the four of them making their way toward the small service elevator against the far wall. The lead Hunter reached out to press the button, but before he could do so, the grimy and dented metal door slid back to reveal a pudgy middle-aged Hispanic man in a maintenance uniform, carrying a toolbox.

Both parties froze, staring at each other with wordless astonishment. The handyman's eyes grew wide as he took in the four individuals standing opposite him - three of them dressed in black and armed to the teeth, the fourth barely conscious and beaten to within an inch of his life.

For a long, uncomfortable moment, no one moved. Finally, Jeff stirred, reaching up to clap Dave on the shoulder, his mouth twisting into its customary satirical grin. Leaning toward the handyman, he remarked in a nonchalant, conspiratorial tone: "_You should see the other guy_."

The Hispanic man's eyes bulged even larger, and babbling an unintelligible prayer in Spanish, he dropped his toolbox and fled toward the street exit. Jeff watched him go, his raised eyebrows the only sign of his consternation. "_Well_..._that_ didn't seem to work." he observed mildly.

The rainbow-haired man turned back...only to met with identical looks of icy disapproval from both Cena and Beth. The daredevil Hunter looked from one to the other, his smile faltering. "What? What'd I do?"

Cena's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and he jammed his thumb toward the empty car of the elevator. "_Get in_." Jeff, amazingly, didn't argue; merely hunched his shoulders and helped the vampire inside, Cena and Beth piling in after them.

The service elevator wasn't big by any stretch of the imagination - even _without_ four people jammed inside, it still would have been cramped as hell. Dave was forced to stand sideways, staring mutely at the floor numbers as they illuminated one after the other. The big man let out a soft exasperated growl - it felt like they were moving at a snail's pace. "We should have taken the stairs-"

"You wouldn't have made it one flight." Cena interrupted tersely, and as much as Dave wanted to argue, he couldn't dispute the logic in the lead Hunter's assertion.

Eventually, the number "14" lit up, and the small compartment shuddered to a grinding halt. The vampire shouldered his way forward, easing his massive frame out the door before it had opened all the way, staggering around the corner in the direction of Melina's apartment.

He was moving more out of muscle memory than any sort of conscious awareness - all the doors looked the same, and he kept losing his balance and stumbling into the wall - but all at once, like the shapes of objects in the fog, the magic number "1417" swam into focus. Dave collapsed against the door, nearly sobbing in relief, clinging to it for a moment before wrenching the knob all the way to the right.

The door didn't open.

For a heartbeat or two, the big man stood there, blinking stupidly at the entryway barrier, wondering when he had lost the strength to perform such a simple task...and then it hit him. _Too late_. He was _too late_. Maybe by minutes, maybe by as little as _seconds_ - but either way, he had gotten here too late and the lock had engaged, trapping him out here...and Mickie in there.

A low snarl of frustration rumbled up out of the vampire's chest, and he threw himself shoulder-first against the door, again and again and _again_, even though he knew it was useless, even as each impact sent bolts of agony radiating down his arm - because _it wasn't fair_; he _couldn't_ have made it all this way just for _nothing_-

"Hey, _hey_!" Dave felt Cena's arm loop across his chest, dragging him away from the door and back against the adjacent wall. The big man struggled, albeit in vain - for once, it seemed that the lead Hunter actually had the advantage in terms of strength. He eventually stopped, and Cena stepped back, unholstering one of his .44s as he spoke: "Let me-"

"Don't bother," the vampire interjected tonelessly. "The whole point of that door is to keep people like _you_ out - you'd just be wasting your ammunition." He tilted his face up toward the ceiling, fighting back tears of helplessness. "You're gonna need something a _lot_ more powerful..."

His voice trailed off into silence as an idea suddenly occurred to him. Dave lowered his head, looking past Cena to the lanky form of Jeff, hovering restlessly in the background. "Hey...Jeff?"

The rainbow-haired man glanced up, his emerald irises meeting Dave's dark ones. A sly smile touched the big man's lips. "You still got that C-4?"

Jeff's face immediately lit up, making him look for all the world like a kid on Christmas morning. "_Always_."

* * *

Dave leaned against the wall, sandwiched on either side by the other two Hunters, all three of them watching silently as Jeff affixed a mishmash of wires and a white PlayDoh-like substance to the apartment door.

Personally, the vampire thought it looked like a failed arts-and-crafts project, but the daredevil Hunter had sworn up and down that it _would_ work, and it was clear - from the deft movements of his hands as he attached a timing device to the makeshift explosive - that he had at least _some_ idea of what he was doing.

"-that should do it." Jeff punched a few buttons on the timer's keypad, then glanced back at them, his expression sobering. "Listen - you know that once this thing blows...any element of surprise we _still_ have is going to be exactly nil-"

"Jeff's right," the lead Hunter interrupted flatly. "So as soon as it goes off, we go in, we strike hard and fast - and most importantly, _we get Mickie out_. You-" He stabbed his finger against Dave's broad chest. "-stay out here. You're in no condition to fight, and I don't want to have to worry about blowing your head off by mistake."

The vampire immediately opened his mouth to protest - but before he could do so, Jeff pressed one final key, and a steady beeping sound began to emanate from the rigged-up device. Dave frowned. "What's that sound mean?"

A faint smile materialized on Jeff's face. "It _means_ we need to take cover - because shit is about to _blow the fuck up_."

Dave didn't need any further prompting - he swiftly headed for the nearest corner, where the corridor doglegged to the left, ducking around it and pressing his back flush against the wall. Moments later, he was joined by the other three, all of them holding their breath and listening to the monotonous electronic tones.

_BEEP..._

_ BEEP..._

_ BEEP..._

_ BEEEEEE..._

The vampire squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the imminent explosion...but nothing happened. Dave slowly pried one eye open, looking around cautiously, seeing similar sentiments etched on the other Hunter's faces: _Wasn't something supposed to HAPPEN?_

Jeff frowned, his countenance a mixture of confusion and dismay. "Huh. I was _sure_ that I set it for fifteen-"

The roar of the explosion drowned him out. The force of the blast rippled along the corridor, causing the floor to shudder and sending all four of them careening against the opposite wall; Jeff was actually knocked off his feet. The lights flickered wildly, and the emergency sprinklers kicked on, raining icy droplets of water down on the quartet.

Groaning, Dave pushed himself up. The explosion had temporarily deafened him - all he could hear was a dull high-pitched ringing - and he could barely see through the haze of water and blood running into his eyes.

Reeling slightly, he peered around the corner. It was hard to tell through the torrent of water, but he could see that the C-4 had torn a huge chunk out of the door frame and wall. More than that...it had blasted apart the locking mechanism and blown the door ajar.

In that moment, the vampire forgot everything - Cena's directive, his own injuries, the potential threat of Melina - all that mattered was that Mickie was in there, and he had to get her out.

The vampire tensed, and before any of the Hunters could stop him, he broke into a shambling run, dashing down the hall and ducking under the door, which had been knocked off one hinge and now hung slant-wise across the entryway. Up ahead in the living room area, through the cloud of plaster dust and debris that the blast had kicked up into the air, he could see the glow of golden yellow light.

His first thought was: _Why are all the lights on?_ - but then the cloud dissipated, and the light fell over him, and the big man realized with horror that he had been wrong.

Very, _very_ wrong.

* * *

Even though he hadn't seen the sun in ten years, Dave could still remember what it was like - its blinding brilliance, the warmth of its rays caressing his face. He still dreamed about it, and every now and again - during the winter months, when the icy wind cutting into him was at its most acute - there were times when he actually missed it.

This, however, was not one of those times.

As soon as he hit that golden light, the vampire felt as though he had just dived head-first into a blazing inferno. An excruciating burning sensation swept over every inch of exposed skin, as though white-hot flames were scorching him from the inside out, and Dave's field of vision momentarily went black with shock and pain.

He could hear the beast raging inside him; its roars deafening him, overwhelming him. It wanted to flee; to escape from the source of the torment and lick its wounds. But instead of obeying, the vampire merely gritted his remaining teeth together and barreled on ahead, even as the agony escalated with each stumbling step.

He had spent the last decade locked in an unending battle - clinging to his humanity despite the primal urges boiling within him, trying to convince himself that _he _controlled the beast, rather than the other way around - and if he ran now; if he gave in to instinctual self-preservation...then the beast would win.

Because without Mickie, he _was_ nothing more than an animal.

The vampire could barely see - it felt like thousands of needles were stabbing into his eyeballs. Everything was flickering in and out of focus, and the sunlight reflecting off the white furnishings filled what little vision he still had with a dazzling milky glare. Through the haze of near-blindness, however, he could see the doorway leading to the master bedroom looming up ahead of him, its dark rectangular outline like a monolith amidst the bright sea of white.

Drawing in a deep breath - it wasn't easy; the simple act of respiration sent a wave of blistering air racing along the inner lining of his lungs - Dave summoned every last fiber of strength, every remaining iota of rationality, and focused all of it on the entryway ahead of him, resolutely moving forward even though every step was torture, already half-convinced in the back of his mind that he wasn't going to make it; that this vacuous ocean of white would be his final image before the flames consumed him-

The pain immediately lessened as the vampire dived into the master bedroom, its absence of light like a soothing aloe vera balm against his aggravated flesh. Dave collapsed on the floor next to the king-size bed, rolling back and forth like a dog before flopping over onto his back, letting out a hoarse labored sound that was both a laugh and a sob.

He was alive. Sure, his dance through the rays of sunlight had left him with a few first- and second-degree burns, as well as exacerbating his existing open wounds, and the air was full of the charred aroma of burned meat - _but he was alive_.

The big man tried to laugh again, but all that emerged this time was a thick hacking cough that sent another brushfire of pain burning across his chest. With effort, Dave rolled over onto his side, his massive frame quivering as he struggled to rein in the uncontrollable spasms. As he did, the ringing in his ears gradually subsided, as well as the blanketing deafness, and over the wheeze of his coughing, the vampire heard a _new_ sound trickle out into the stillness.

The thin, reedy wail of an infant.

Dave's head shot up, his heart leaping up into his throat. "M-_Mickie_?" he gasped out, his voice half-choked with discomfort and emotion.

There was no answer, but the cries continued, emanating from the shadowed interior of the bathroom. The vampire scrambled toward it - on hands and knees; he didn't think he possessed the necessary stamina anymore to make it to his feet - breath escaping from him in panting gasps that sounded more like sobs. Reaching the doorway, he grabbed onto the frame for support, his eyes frantically scanning over the familiar contours of furniture and appliances.

In his panic, he saw nothing out of the ordinary at first...but then after a second or two, his vision cleared and he was able to pick out the figure slumped inside the glass enclosure of the shower stall, leaning limply against the tiled wall.

"_Mickie_!" The word burst out of him, barely more than an exhalation of breath, but still audibly etched with anxiety and anguish. Tears blurring his vision, Dave crawled toward the motionless figure, already dreading the worst - that he had come all this way only to be seconds too late-

Like a plant turning toward the light, the scarred brunette slowly lifted her head, peering at the approaching vampire uncertainly as though unconvinced of his validity. "_Dave_?"

The vampire's throat swelled shut with emotion, and closing the few remaining feet between them - in his exhaustion and elation, it seemed like a million miles - he climbed into the shower shall, reaching out with both arms to pull Mickie into his embrace. His tears spilled over, trickling down his cheeks, their saltiness irritating his welts and burns even more, but Dave didn't care.

After everything they had been through, the hell that both of them had endured, the only thing that mattered anymore was that Mickie was _alive_, and here in his arms.

He could feel Mickie's fingers tentatively graze his face, his neck, her touch cool and assuaging. "I _knew..._that you'd come...for me..." Her voice was halting and barely audible, as though it was taking all of her energy just to get the words out.

"Of _course_ I did," Dave whispered, pulling back so he could gaze into her eyes. His voice trailed off, concern creasing his countenance as he took in the full measure of her appearance - the air of fatigue clinging to her, the blood splattered on her face and clothes; the deep slashes across each cheekbone that, while no longer seeping, would no doubt leave scars similar to the ones already marring her features.

As soon as she saw his face, Mickie flinched, but Dave didn't blame her - he had a pretty good idea by now what it looked like to others. "Oh my _God_..." the scarred brunette murmured. Her brown eyes were wide and bright with unshed tears. "Dave...what did they _do_ to you-"

"It doesn't matter," the vampire interjected softly. "It doesn't matter what they did, because they're _dead _now, and they'll never hurt either one of us again." He hesitated for a moment, gazing deep into her eyes. There was so much that he wanted to say, but in his exhaustion, the query emerged in the form of only a single word: "Melina?"

"_Dead_." Mickie whispered, unable to keep bitter satisfaction from creeping into that one syllable. She paused for a heartbeat or two, then added, almost unnecessarily: "_I killed her_."

The vampire stared at her a few seconds longer, then abruptly pulled her close once more, pressing his lips to to her forehead. As he did, he felt something thrash weakly against him, accompanied by another mewling cry. The scarred brunette immediately jerked back at the sound, and Dave realized for the first time that her arms weren't empty; there was a small bundle cradled in them, swaddled in bath towels.

The big man couldn't talk for a moment; his heart was in his mouth, and it was only with the profoundest effort that he was finally able to force the words out: "Is...is _that_-"

Mickie, who had been rocking the bundle back and forth gently and cooing, lifted her head, nodding slowly. "It's our _daughter_, Dave." Her voice was thick with emotion and reverence. "Here-" She turned the bundle toward him, allowing him to see the tiny figure cocooned within. "Isn't she _perfect_?"

Dave would never be able to fully describe just what passed through his mind as he gazed down at his infant daughter for the first time. She was so unbelievably tiny, yet so exquisitely formed - Mickie was right; she _was_ perfect. The vampire's dark irises lovingly drank in every detail - her red wrinkled face, her little hands curled up near her open mouth, the wisps of dark downy hair clinging to her tiny scalp.

She was a part of him, he realized; a part of him, and a part of Mickie, as well. But she was more than that; more than just the fruit of their love - she was proof that maybe this world wasn't so hopeless after all; that even in the most fallow and dead earth a beautiful and pure flower can still bloom.

If this little girl, the daughter of a vampire and a human, could exist - then maybe there _was_ something bigger than all of them. Maybe...there _was_ something to believe in.

"Don't worry about naming her," The soft lilt of Mickie's tone jarred the big man back to the present. "I took care of that already." Reluctantly, Dave tore his focus away from his newborn daughter, gazing at the scarred brunette expectantly. Mickie leaned her head back against the tiled wall, her brown eyes drifting half-closed. "I named her...after what you gave back to me."

Puzzlement briefly flitted across the vampire's face. "What's that?"

Mickie's lips twitched, the corners of her mouth curving upward in a smile; a tiny one, but it lit up her face nonetheless. "_Hope_," the scarred brunette whispered. "I named her _Hope_."

Dave stared at her for an instant, as the full meaning of her statement gradually sank in, before pulling both mother and daughter close, dipping his head down and covering Mickie's lips with his own. As soon as he did so, everything else melted away - the dirt, the blood, the chaos - reverting him back to that first time, in the abandoned building, with the rain pouring down on them both; that moment when they had realized, however subconsciously, that the one thing each of them really needed...was each other.

From somewhere else inside the apartment complex, a fire alarm began wailing, breaking through the pleasant bubble of reminiscence surrounding the couple. The vampire pulled back, wrapping one arm protectively around Mickie's shoulders. "C'mon - I'm taking you out of here-"

Instead of leaning into him, however, the scarred brunette withdrew, shaking her head. "No, Dave."

The big man frowned. "What are you talking about? I'll carry you - here, just grab onto me-" He reached for her again, but once more, Mickie recoiled from his touch. Dave stared at her, his expression a mixture of incredulity and bewilderment. "What are you doing? We're getting out of here and leaving this place far behind us-"

"Not me." Mickie's voice was low, barely above a whisper...but yet somehow filled with a firm resolve that sent a chill racing through the vampire's insides. The scarred brunette took a deep breath, then let it back out again. "_Not this time_."

"What do you-" Dave started to ask, then stopped as an all-too-familiar scent assailed his nostrils: _blood_. _That_ was no surprise - both he and Mickie were more or less covered in it - but _this_ was different. _This_ aroma was fresh, and glancing down, the vampire noticed the pool of red slowly spreading outward from beneath Mickie's legs, oozing around the drain in a slow curve.

Dave's head snapped back up, his dark eyes wide and fastened on the scarred brunette. More details were emerging; things which, in his relief and joy, he'd failed to pick up on the first time, but now stood out in stark unmistakable relief. The greyish-white pallor of her skin beneath the smears and splashes of blood. The light in her brown irises - less like a fire and more like a guttering flame on the verge of going out.

The _look_ on her face, in the edges of her expression - a sort of awful awareness, along with an even more awful _acceptance-_

_ Not me..._

_ Not this time..._

And then all at once, the entire terrible understanding of what Mickie was trying to tell him crashed over Dave like an icy tidal wave, freezing his heart within his chest, tearing the words out of his mouth before his brain could even begin to comprehend what he was saying: "No, no, no-"

"I can't stop it." Mickie was speaking again, her alto tone husky, but also filled with an eerie calm. "The bleeding. It started before you came - I've tried everything, but I can't get it to _stop_-" The scarred brunette sniffed, her voice finally cracking. "I'm _dying_."

"No, you're not," The vampire shook his head, his voice quavering with vehement denial . "Cena and his team are right outside - we'll take you to the hospital; they'll fix you right up-" Even as he spoke, though, he could hear the false optimism dripping from each syllable. "I'm not letting you die-"

"It's too late," A tear trickled down Mickie's cheek, then another, washing away the blood and leaving pale rivulets in their wake. "It's too late for me; I _know_ it. I'm slipping away - I can _feel _it-" Dave felt her take his hand, her slender fingers intertwining with his and holding on tight. The scarred brunette swallowed hard, her tears coming faster now. "I'm just glad...that I got to see you...one last time-"

"No..." The vampire's eyes filled with fresh tears, blurring his vision into a dull mosaic of color. "Please...Mickie...I can't do this alone..." He could barely talk; his throat seemed to have shrunk down to the size of a pinhole. He squeezed Mickie's hand just as tightly as she had his. "I don't want to live in a world...without you-"

"You _have_ to," Mickie's voice was faint but insistent. "For our daughter's sake - for _Hope's_ sake." With her other arm, she hugged the newborn tighter against her chest. "You have to take care of her, _protect _her like you _promised_ me." Her brown irises bored into Dave's dark ones. "She's special, Dave...but more than that, she's _ours_." She gulped down a harsh tear-filled breath. "So make sure that you tell her about me _every day_ - make sure she knows... how much I _loved _her-"

"Mickie-" Dave's voice finally broke, tears streaming down his bruised and beaten face. "Mickie, please...don't leave me-" He was begging now, his tone hoarse with desperation and pleading, wondering how he could have been so stupid to think that time was meaningless, when the truth was that every minute, every _instant_ of it was precious - because there wasn't enough of it, there was _never_ enough of it.

Even if you lived forever...what was the point of eternity if you had to spend it alone?

Mickie let go of his hand, reaching up to touch his cheek. "Dave...there's _so much_ that I want to say...but I want you to know - don't blame yourself for _anything_ that happened to me - it was never your fault." Already, her voice was growing weaker, her breathing shallower, each rise and fall of her chest seeming to require more and more effort. Her eyes, however, remained steadily focused on his. "I don't regret..._any_ of it - not one _second_ that I spent with you."

Another feeble struggling breath. "You gave me a reason...to _live_."

"Stay with me!" Dave was sobbing, the words almost lost in the flow of tears. "Mickie, please, just _stay with me_-"

"I..." The scarred brunette's voice trailed off, and for one horrifying instant, Dave was certain that was it. But then Mickie stirred, and summoning the last of whatever strength she still possessed, every muscle in her tiny frame quivering with the exertion, she looked up into his face and whispered three final words in a voice as soft as wind soughing through the leaves:

"_I...love...you..."_

Her body went limp, sagging back against the tiled shower wall. Her hand, pressed to his cheek, dropped back down into her lap. Her heart beat, slower and slower, like a music box ticking down into silence:

_Lub-dub..._

_ Lub...dub..._

_ Lub..._

And then...nothing. She was gone.

Dave sat there dumbly, unable to move, unable to _breathe_, unwilling to believe that Mickie was dead; that whatever soul or essence that had made her _her_ was gone now, never to return, and the body in his arms was nothing more than an empty husk. This was a dream, a _nightmare_ - any second, he would wake up to find that none of this was true-

A minute crawled by. Another. _Another. _And gradually, as the numbness of shock began to wear off and give way to the sharp sting of grief, the vampire realized that this _wasn't_ a dream; this was _reality_.

Mickie was dead...and he was alone.

The sound burst out of him then; a roar of anguish and sadness, neither human nor beast, that seemed to go on and on and on. Next to him, Hope, startled by the loud noise, burst into tears, and Dave quickly scooped her up, cradling her awkwardly in his muscular arms. The unfamiliar embrace, however, only agitated the infant more, and her cries rapidly rose to a fever pitch, mingling with the vampire's sobs, creating a keening sound of despair.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there in that shower stall - trapped within the suffocating miasma of his own desolation, unable to even comfort his own daughter - before he was surprised by a sudden light tap on his shoulder, accompanied by Beth's voice: "Dave?"

Sniffing, the big man turned, peering at the female Hunter through the veil of tears obscuring his vision. Beth wore her customary stoic countenance, but her pale blue eyes were full of stunned sympathy. Gnawing on her lower lip, she averted her gaze, extending her arms out for the baby. "Here, let me take-"

Dave instinctively jerked the newborn out of her reach, holding her protectively against his chest. He stared wordlessly at the blond-haired woman, his agony briefly giving way to a combination of suspicion and incomprehension. Beth slowly shook her head, a wan smile touching her lips. "Don't worry; I'm not taking her away from you; I just-" She stopped; it was clear from the way her mouth was twitching that it was taking all of her composure not to burst into tears. "I just want...to give you the chance...to say goodbye - to Mickie."

The vampire's expression didn't change, and for a second, the female Hunter wasn't sure that he had even heard her. But eventually, he stirred, leaning down to place a soft kiss on the infant's forehead before reluctantly handing her over to Beth.

The blond-haired woman carefully cradled Hope in one arm, using the other to adjust the newborn's terrycloth swaddling. Dave wasn't sure which sight was more incongruous - the sight of a baby in the female Hunter's arms, or the apparent ease with which she seemed to handling it. Beth lifted her gaze, another weak smile flickering across her pretty features. "Boy or girl?"

"Girl." the vampire murmured dully. He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly against the inevitable surge of tears. "Her...her name is _Hope_."

"Hope." Beth repeated. She cooed softly at the infant before looking back up at Dave once more. "She's beautiful." To this, the big man said nothing; only gazing longingly at his newborn daughter as tears rolled down his face. The female Hunter looked away, clearing her throat awkwardly. "We'll be right outside the room...whenever you're ready."

Dave said nothing; only watched as the blond-haired woman carried the baby out of the darkened bathroom. As soon as she was gone, he turned back toward Mickie, gazing at her for a long moment before gently gathering her into his arms and pulling her close.

At first glance, she seemed to be only asleep - her brown eyes were closed, her full lips slightly parted, as though she was about to take in a breath. Her skin was still warm to the touch, and for a few insane moments of time, Dave was sure that she was still in there somewhere; that the body in his embrace wasn't just an empty shell, couldn't _possibly _be.

The vampire's lips trembled, and with one hand, he brushed her golden-brown hair back from her face, running his fingers one last time over the textured contours of her features. _You have to help me..._he begged her silently. _I can't do this all by myself. How can I possibly describe to Hope what you were like - how angry and passionate and frightened and wonderful and alive you were? How being with you were the only moments where life seemed to come together and make sense?_

_ How am I supposed to go on...when part of me died with you?_

Dave dipped his head down, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He took a deep breath, inhaling her warmth, her scent, her _essence_, images and sensations flickering across his eyes like frames in a movie-

-_the taste of Mickie's lips...the softness of her skin...the dizzying sensation of making love to her...her hand in his..._

_ Her laugh...her voice...her bitterness...her sorrow...her humor..._

_ Everything...all those insignificant details that comprise a memory...all those unforgettable moments that make up a life-_

_ -_and with a soft sigh of acceptance, _he let her go_.

"I promised Rob that I'd protect her." At the sound of Cena's voice, Dave flinched a little, but didn't turn around. He could hear the soft scrape of the lead Hunter's boots on the floor as Cena came toward him from the far corner of the room. The blue-eyed man went on. "Rob...he was different from the rest of us. Me, Beth, Jeff, 'Ria - all we have anymore are memories and ghosts, but Rob...he had someone _living. _Out of all of us, _he _had a reason to stay alive."

Dave cast a look back over his shoulder. Cena had halted a few feet away. One of his guns was drawn and down at his side, but the lead Hunter seemed to have forgotten about it. His azure irises were fixed on Mickie; his face and voice faraway, as though he was speaking to himself rather than to the big man. "I tried to tell her..how _sorry _I was - I tried _so many times_, but I could never get the words out-"

Cena's voice cracked slightly, and he ducked his head briefly, biting his lip. "I...I wanted her to know - I never expected to replace Rob, I never even expected her to forgive me, I just-"

The lead Hunter's voice broke, his stoic expression crumbling as he finally allowed the deep well of grief within him to rise to the surface. "-_I just didn't want her to hate me_."

A long somber silence filled the room. Dave turned away; slowly, tenderly, he returned Mickie's body to its original position, folding her hands over her chest. He hesitated, gripping the one on top for a moment before reluctantly letting go.

The vampire lifted his chin, focusing his gaze listlessly on the blank tile wall before him. His deep voice, when he eventually spoke, was just as apathetic: "You told me...that after this was over...things would go back to the way they were - and you and I would go back to being enemies." He paused. "Are you going to kill me?"

"I thought about it," the lead Hunter admitted, after another long stillness had gone by. "Even as I was walking into this room, I was thinking about it-"

"So what's stopping you?" Dave cut him off, his tone bitter. He wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve, his eyes smarting with tears once again. "You'd be doing both of us a favor - why don't you just put me out of my misery-"

He heard Cena's footsteps approach at a rapid pace, and steeled himself against the impending bite of a gun barrel pressed to the back of his head...but instead, the lead Hunter grabbed hold of his shoulder, his fingers digging into Dave's flesh emphatically. "Because there is a little girl waiting outside this room who just lost her mother," the blue-eyed man retorted in a harsh unforgiving whisper. "and like it or not, _you_ are all she has left."

Cena went on. "Now, you were right about things going back to the way they were. After tonight, I'm still going to hate vamps, and I doubt I'll ever trust you enough for us to become friends." The lead Hunter hesitated. "But I already failed to save that little girl's mother - I'm not going to take her father away, too."

His hold on Dave's shoulder loosened, and the blue-eyed man crouched down on his haunches as he continued, his tone softening. "There's a storm coming. You realize that? The vamps - the ones in the shadows, the ones who pull the strings - they know about your daughter. They know that she's _special_ - and once they find out where they is, they will come down _hard_ and _fast_." Cena moved a little closer, his voice dropping in volume, but not in intensity. "This war you _think_ you know? It's _nothing_ compared to the one you're about to be at the center of."

"So...what?" the vampire shot back, twisting around to fix the lead Hunter with a glare. "Is this your way of giving me a head start?"

"Actually," Cena replied coolly. "This is my way...of giving you a helping hand." As he spoke, he flipped the .44 around, extending the butt of it toward Dave.

The vampire looked from it to him, his countenance puzzled. Cena's mouth curved up in a sardonic half-smile. "In fact, you _might_ say...that I'm offering you a job..."


	41. Chapter 41: Epilogue

**A/N: NEW CHAPTER! I had way more fun writing this chapter than I think I should have, but at the same time, I was really sad to end it. However, as I said before, there will be a sequel, with all your favorites and many new ones, so keep a look out! **

**I want to thank everyone who read, reviewed, alerted, favorited, sent me nice things on Twitter, etc this story - I really appreciate it, and it has been a huge part in making me keep on with this story. Without you reading, I'm more or less talking to myself, so thank you, thank you, thank you!**

**Thank you to **Esha Napoleon, Hellfire and Brimstone, therealchamps, BigRedMachineUK, ImSeriousBro, Girl on Fire, **and **AprilGilbert1996 **for reviewing the penultimate chapter! I LOVE YOU ALL! A LOT! PUPPIES AND HUGS FOR EVERYONE! PEACE!**

**-Katelyn, aka "DarkAngelElektra"-**

* * *

**Epilogue: Animal I Have Become**

_"They say it's all about the sacrifice/And the weapons you choose/Like I said, I'm not one for violence/But it keeps me hanging on..." - Tonic, "Casual Affair"_

_"This is the way the world ends...not with a whimper, but with a BANG..." - __Southland Tales_

* * *

_Two Years Later_

Randy idly pushed the eight-ball across the green felt surface of the pool table, watching with a detached fascination as it caromed against the walls before hovering at the lip of the nearest corner pocket. The Viper's Pit owner stared at it, taking a generous swig from the inch or so of whiskey still remaining in his glass before reaching out with thumb and middle finger to _flick_ the ball into the pocket.

He set the glass down on the wooden edge of the table, reaching up with one hand to massage the back of his neck. It had been a long, busy night at the bar; one that had left Randy with a pounding headache and an even greater disgust for the human race as a whole. Right now, it was five minutes away from closing time, and the Viper's Pit owner was taking advantage of the newfound lull by secluding himself in the second-floor pool room while nursing a drink - though still keeping one ear trained toward the downstairs for the inevitable clumsiness of his latest bartender, Alex.

Right on cue - almost as though the universe was giving him just cause to be irritated - he heard the discordant _CLINK _of bottles hitting the floor, followed by a muffled curse. Randy closed his eyes for a second, sucking in an annoyed breath before storming over to one of the openings overlooking the floor below, spitting out his employee's surname in a snarl that made it sound more like an epithet: "_Riley_!"

The back room doors immediately burst open, and Alex came barreling out, his tone apologetic. "Sorry, Boss," the bartender stammered. "I was moving the vodka like you asked me, and I just-"

"I don't care if you were getting a blow job from Lindsay Lohan," the Viper's Pit owner interrupted, his tone ruthlessly icy. "You break any of that shit, it's coming out of your fucking pay. Understand?"

Alex ducked his head meekly."Yes, boss-" he began, but Randy had already shut him out, whirling around and storming back toward the pool tables. With one hand, he smacked the pyramid of brightly-colored balls neatly arranged on one, sending them spinning in all directions.

The blue-eyed man clamped both hands on the table edge, clenching his teeth and trying to subdue the throbbing in his head. He hadn't particularly liked Cody or Ted, and he wasn't sorry that either one of them was gone - but the pair seemed like fucking rocket scientists compared to Alex.

Randy supposed that it _could_ be worse; that, in some offhand way, he should be _grateful_ for the dullard tending bar downstairs. After all, this place was a bitch to run by himself, and the "HELP WANTED" sign he'd put up in the front window hadn't brought in a lot of prospectives - apparently, having _both_ of your employees disappear within a few days of one another tended to scare off a lot of potential applicants. And of the ones that _had_ applied...well, compared with _that_ lot, Alex was the brightest of the bunch.

Besides, despite his lack of grey matter and hands perpetually coated with butter, the current bartender wasn't _all _bad. He _was_ great with customers - women especially; they _adored_ him - but more importantly, he seemed to have grasped the one concept that _both_ of his predecessors had ultimately failed to understand: that the only way to make it out of this place with your job _and _your life intact was to _keep your head down and shut up_.

The Viper's Pit owner slowly spun around, leaning against the table and crossing both arms over his chest. When he had regained consciousness in the emergency room two years ago, the doctors had been full of questions - where had he come from, how did he get here, and how had he come by such an unusual set of puncture wounds in his arm?

Randy had met every one of their queries with a frigid glare and stony silence - the only time he opened his mouth was to demand a telephone. When they eventually acquiesced, he made only one call - twenty minutes later, a police captain arrived with a signed court order stating that, not only would Mr. Orton not be subjected to any further questioning from hospital staff, he would be treated and discharged as soon as possible.

Sometimes...it _really_ helped to have friends in high places.

As soon as he was out, the Viper's Pit owner had returned home, downed a couple strong belts of whiskey, hung a "HELP WANTED" sign in the window...and returned to life as usual. In time, his old attitude returned to him as well; that he was untouchable, _invincible_ - because _he_ had endured. All the ones who had opposed him - Cena and his team; Melina and her pets; Dave and Mickie, the two lovebirds that had started this whole mess - _they_ had disappeared, become nothing more than names and faces in the wind...while _he_ remained.

He still thought about Mickie from time to time - in a very offhand way, like one remembering a familiar piece of furniture. He'd had countless girls since her - there _were_ always girls, willing to do _anything _for a fix - but somehow, none of them stood out as much as _her_. None of them resonated inside that hollow cavity within his chest - the place where most human beings had a heart - the way _she _had.

Randy supposed that this fascination with her, this reluctance to relinquish the memory of the scarred brunette, wasn't because she was _special_...but rather, because she had been _his_.

Completely, totally, _utterly_ his...until that _vampire_ had _stolen_ her from him.

The Viper's Pit owner's handsome features warped with ugly hatred at the thought of the big man, and he reached out for his whiskey glass, intending to drain its contents. As he picked it up, however, a bolt of white-hot prickling pain shot down his arm, all the way to the nail. His fingers went abruptly numb, and the glass slipped from his senseless hand, shattering against the wooden floor.

"_Fuck_!" Randy muttered, sucking in a sharp pain-filled hiss. The doctors had warned him about this; had explained to him that the stab wounds had caused severe damage to the muscles and tendons, and - without surgery - he might never recover the full use of his arm. The blue-eyed man ignored their advice, but of course - in that annoying indirect way that physicians always seem to have the final word - they had been right.

The Viper's Pit owner crouched down, cradling his weaker arm against his chest and gingerly massaging it with the other, his fingers grazing over the two thick white scars - on other side of his forearm - marring the tattooed flesh. As soon as they did, Randy's cold eyes abruptly flew open, his azure irises fixed on the scratched wooden floor as though trying to burn a hole through it.

He had more or less dismissed the events from two years ago and moved on; however, his one lingering regret - if you could even call it that, because _regret_ implied some measure of empathy, and Randy had been absent of _that_ his whole life - was that he hadn't killed Dave when he'd had the chance.

Because _that_ was the source that all of his later troubles had sprang from: the loss of Mickie - and subsequently, two adequate employees - the physical punishment he'd endured from both vampire and Hunter, the pain and the ensuing vices he'd acquired to cope with said discomfort...not to mention all the money he'd lost for failing to deliver a half-vampire brat.

And to think, the Viper's Pit owner could have prevented _all_ of this if he hadn't held back; if he had just _kept going _and applied that little bit of extra pressure to the chain that would have burned Dave's head right off his neck-

Another bright burst of agony streaked down his arm, and Randy grimaced, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out. Day by day, the pain was steadily growing worse; it was getting so he couldn't even make it through a normal shift without finding some way to dull the ache. Hence the whiskey; hence the bottle of prescription pills stashed away in his bottom desk drawer.

Normally, the Viper's Pit owner waited until the bar was closed and he was alone before medicating himself - in his position, he couldn't afford to let it slip out that he had a weakness of _any_ kind, let alone a growing addiction - but his arm was throbbing, and Alex was too stupid to notice any sort of difference. Besides, losing himself in a chemically-induced haze might make his employee's moronic tendencies less aggravating than normal.

At that moment, another clatter echoed up from downstairs, accompanied this time by the unmistakable _tinkle_ of broken glass. Randy's blue eyes narrowed to small slits, and with a low guttural roar, he sprang to his feet, clenching both hands into fists. "_Riley, you shit-"_

His voice trailed off uncertainly as nothing followed his furious bellow - no frantic scramble of footsteps, no hastily stammered apology - nothing but dead, unnerving silence. The Viper's Pit owner slid his gaze all the way to the right, then to the left, as a tiny cold sliver of disquiet - not fear; he never felt that - worked its way down his spine.

With slow, deliberate movements, made his way over to one of the wall openings, cautiously peering down while maintaining as much cover as he could. The main floor of the bar appeared deserted - no flicker or creak of movement to indicate someone was down there. Randy drew in his breath slowly. "Riley?"

Still no answer, and the sliver of disquiet intensified. Moving as quietly as he could, the Viper's Pit owner exited the room, descending the stairs one at a time. He glanced toward the front windows, but the street beyond them was empty. Randy crept over to the mouth of the short narrow hallway leading to the rear exit, pausing for a second before peeking carefully around its edge.

The corridor was empty, the door at its terminus still tightly shut. Randy's eyes narrowed once more, his gaze sweeping silently back and forth. He was tempted to call Alex's name once more, but didn't do so - if the bartender was capable of answering, he would have done so by now. Better to assume that he was already dead and focus instead on keeping himself alive.

Avoiding the loose or creaky floorboards, the Viper's Pit owner sidled down toward his office, which was still as he had left it - door open, light out. Taking one heedful step inside the small room, he groped one hand along the wall to his immediate left, his fingers searching for the cool comforting metal barrel of the shotgun tucked away behind the file cabinet-

"Looking for something?"

Randy whipped around wildly as Dave's voice floated up out of the darkness. The Viper's Pit owner stumbled back a pace or two, his inscrutable expression momentarily giving way to genuine surprise. His azure irises wildly scanned the darkness, unable to see anything through the initial rush of panic - but gradually, as his head cleared and his eyes adjusted, he was able to make out the figure of the vampire sitting in the opposite corner, his all-black attire reducing him to a shadow amongst shadows.

Randy swallowed hard, hoping Dave wouldn't notice the slight jump of his Adam's Apple, forcing his features back to their original blank impenetrable mask. "Dave..." the blue-eyed man drawled. "Haven't seen _you_ in here for a while."

The big man said nothing to this; only nudged something forward with his foot. Randy glanced down at it, gradually realizing after a moment or two that he was staring at the dismantled pieces of his shotgun. "I've been busy." the vampire replied flatly.

The Viper's Pit owner lifted his gaze, forcing a small smile onto his face despite the ripple of agitation swelling in his stomach. "And you decided to stop in and say hi? I'm _touched_."

His outward demeanor and tone were casual, but inside, Randy's mental gears were spinning at a frenetic rate, trying to determine his next move, trying to figure out how to get to his desk - and to the 9mm holstered underneath - without arousing any suspicion. The blue-eyed man took a leisurely step toward it, keeping his focus fixed on the big man. "So...two years...what have you been up to?"

Dave shrugged; a slight lift and fall of his shoulders. "This and that. Met some new people, picked up some new skills...you know how it goes." As the vampire spoke, Randy thought he spotted a faint glint of metal from his mouth.

"This and that..." the Viper's Pit owner echoed. Another step. "So then...the rumors I've been hearing-" He took another step, expecting at any moment for Dave to explode out of his seat and lunge toward him in a blur of motion, but the vampire seemed content to merely sit and watch his gradual progress. "-rumors about a Hunter team that brought a vampire into their crew..._you _wouldn't know _anything_ about that..._would you_?"

Dave's dark unblinking eyes never left his. "Nothing at all."

"Good to hear." Randy reached the desk, stretching out one hand to drum his fingers idly against its surface. He stared at the vampire, and for an instant, his smile morphed into a smirk, the timbre of his deep voice changing ever-so-slightly as he prepared to twist the blade. "By the way..._how's Mickie_?"

At the mention of the scarred brunette's name, Dave flinched - subtly, but still visible in the dim light. The big man drew in a sharp breath, his voice holding only the faintest hint of strain as he spoke. "Mickie's _dead_."

"_Really_?" The Viper's Pit owner clucked his tongue sympathetically. "Isn't that a _shame_. I'm sorry."

"No, you're not." Dave interjected roughly, and through the gloom, Randy thought he could glimpse a trace of malice glittering in the vampire's gaze.

Randy stared back at him, his smirk widening. "You're right," the blue-eyed man conceded. "I'm not." Now he was at his chair, trailing his fingers over the contours of its back. "It was inevitable...and to be honest, the bitch had it coming." Pulling his chair out, the Viper's Pit owner sank into it with a low appreciative sigh, flicking his azure irises back toward Dave. "How did it happen, anyway? _She_ pull the trigger - or did she talk _you_ into doing it-"

"You can stop right there," the big man interrupted, his tone brusque. "If you're trying to mind-fuck me, it's not gonna work this time."

Randy made a face. "_You're_ no fun." He shrugged nonchalantly. "But you're right - I shouldn't speak ill of the dead." He straightened in his chair, leaning forward a little to pull open the bottom drawer of his desk. "So why don't we have a drink?" He reached into the drawer, his hand closing around the neck of a whiskey bottle. The Viper's Pit owner pulled it out and set it on the desktop, taking care not to tear his eyes away from Dave's. "Just a little something...to the memory of dear departed Mickie James-"

His hand stole down again, as though reaching for glasses - but instead, it closed around the familiar butt of the 9mm, safe and secure within its holster. The Viper's Pit owner paused for one heartbeat, and then yanked it out, aiming the muzzle directly at the vampire's face.

Dave didn't speak, didn't even move. Randy stood, knocking his chair over as he strode around the desk, still pointing the 9mm at the big man's head. "Don't you _ever_ learn?" the Viper's Pit owner sneered. "_Two years_...and you're _still_ out of your fucking league." He shook his head. "You should have left well enough alone."

_Still_ Dave said nothing, and in the back of his mind, Randy felt the first slight tinge of apprehension; of something being _not quite_ _right_ with this situation. But the blue-eyed man shrugged it off as just the lingering effects of his initial shock. He cocked the hammer back; the safety was already off, all he needed to do was pull the trigger. Randy tilted his chin up, his expression full of vicious satisfaction. "Say hello to Mickie for me."

He pulled the trigger - but instead of a shot, all that emerged from the firearm was a hollow _CLICK_. Randy froze, his sneer faltering. He tried again, but still was only able to produce the same empty sound. The Viper's Pit owner pulled the trigger again, and again, his movements becoming more and more agitated, his victorious countenance sagging into one of stunned disbelief.

Across the room, Dave finally stirred, his shoulders shaking slightly as he let out a dry humorless chuckle. "Oh, _Randy_..." the vampire remarked, his tone faintly pitying. Pulling something out of his pocket, he held it up, and through the blanket of shock rapidly tamping down over him, Randy was able to see that it was the 9mm's magazine.

Dave stared at him, a smile finally touching his lips for the first time. "...did you _really_ think I'd be _stupid_ enough to let you get near a _loaded_ gun?" He waggled the magazine back and forth tauntingly, then crushed it in his fist, warping the metal out of shape before opening his hand and letting it fall to the floor.

At the dull clatter of metal, Randy jumped visibly. His mouth was moving, but no words issue forth - for once, the Viper's Pit owner had been struck speechless. Dave slowly stood, rising to his full height. Two straps criss-crossed bandolier-style across his broad chest; reaching back behind him, the vampire pulled a short-barreled pump action shotgun from its holster, swinging it down almost casually so that its muzzle was aimed at the blue-eyed man.

The big man grinned, and Randy realized what the source of the metallic glint was - both of Dave's fangs were gone, replaced by what looked like steel replicas. "_My turn_." the vampire whispered, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet connected, and Randy's left kneecap immediately disintegrated in an explosion of tissue and bone. The Viper's Pit owner's azure eyes bulged with pain and astonishment, the 9mm slipping from his grasp and clunking against the floor.

Dave pumped the handgrip, ejecting the spent round, and fired a second one into Randy's other kneecap. The blue-eyed man collapsed, one hand groping frantically for and missing the edge of the desk, all the air bursting from his lungs in an agonized _OOOF_ as his spine connected hard with the unyielding floor.

The vampire pumped the shotgun once more, his footsteps thudding ominously against the wooden boards as he strode toward the fallen predator. Randy's mouth was open in a silent scream, but the only sound that made it through his paralysis of pain and shock was a thin reedy moan. Blood poured out of his mangled leg joints, spreading across the floor in a viscous dark red pool.

Dave stood over him, cocking his head slightly to one side as he stared impassively down at his adversary. "_That_...in case you were wondering...was for _Cody_." He swung the gun down, the black eye of the muzzle coming to rest on Randy's face. "_This_...is for _Mickie_-"

"You going to kill me or just talk me to death?" Randy interrupted. His face was bone-white, his features taut with agony, but nevertheless, he still managed to glare defiantly back up at the big man. "God, you're as bad as Melina was. Just _do_ it and get it over with!"

"_Kill_ you?" Dave reiterated, sounding almost offended. "I never said I was going to _kill_ you." As soon as he heard this, the blue-eyed man felt his remaining resistance evaporate. What he saw in the vampire's expression as he spoke; the emptiness, the detachment, the _awareness_ - he understood finally what everyone else saw when they looked into _his_ face.

And for the very first time in his existence, the Viper's Pit owner was _afraid_.

The big man continued. "See, Randy..." Dave crouched down, nestling the muzzle of the shotgun underneath the blue-eyed man's chin, noting the nervous twitch of Randy's Adam's Apple as he gulped. "...I may be the blood-drinker...but _you're _the _real_ parasite. Only it's not _blood_ you feed off of - it's _people_. You _use_ them, drain them until there's nothing left, and then you discard them."

For a second, something ugly and unspeakable flickered across the vampire's face. "That's what you did to Mickie. You took what Miz and Morrison did to her, and you made it last for _three years_. Death was the only merciful thing she got in this life-"

Dave paused, leaning down slightly, his voice dropping to a threatening murmur: "-_so why the fuck should I be merciful to you_?"

The big man abruptly stood, his expression resuming its previous stoicism. "What I'm going to do to you...maybe you'll live through it, maybe you won't - either way, you _will_ suffer...and you'll never hurt anyone ever again." Swinging the shotgun a few feet lower, he fired one final time.

The round hit Randy in the groin, sending up a thick spray of flesh, blood, and bodily fluid. The Viper's Pit owner thrashed around wildly on the floor, a shrill unearthly scream emanating from his throat, his blue eyes wide and glassy with pain and stark insanity.

Dave slowly re-holstered his shotgun, staring solemnly down at the writhing figure for a few seconds. Reaching down, he tore a strip of blood-splattered fabric from Randy's shirt. Straightening up, he grabbed the whiskey bottle off the desk, dumping half its contents onto Randy; the Viper's Pit owner coughed and sputtered as the fiery liquor splashed onto his face.

The vampire poured some more of the whiskey onto the floor, then shoved the fabric scrap into the neck of the bottle. Reaching into his other pocket, he pulled out a lighter, flicking back the cover and sparking a flame, which he ran along the edge of the fabric until it caught as well.

Dave turned back toward Randy. Incredibly, the Viper's Pit owner was still conscious, his azure irises peering blearily up at his adversary with the last of his remaining lucidity. The big man's expression was stony. "Let this be a message to all your fanged friends - if they come anywhere _near_ my daughter-"

He raised the makeshift Molotov cocktail up over his head. "-there'll be _hell_ to pay."

With that, he hurled the bottle to the ground. It shattered, flames instantly billowing out and upward. The vampire turned his back, striding toward the door without so much as a second glance.

Randy tried to lift his head, tried to speak, but it was impossible - there was too much heat and smoke; just drawing breath sent scorching air rocketing down into his lungs. Through the shimmering veil of fire, he caught one final glimpse of Dave as he exited the office; of the two holstered shotguns forming an X across his broad back...

Then the flames found him, and all he knew was pain.

* * *

Cena leaned against the hood of a parked car, muscled arms crossed over his chest. He was several blocks over from the Viper's Pit, but he could still see the smoke, the orange light of the inferno flickering against the night sky; could hear the echoic wail of the fire engines as they raced toward the source of the blaze.

There was a flicker of movement off to his right, from the darkened alley just adjacent. The lead Hunter's hand reflexively stole to his gun, but quickly relaxed as Dave emerged from the shadows. The vampire halted, staring at Cena with an unreadable countenance. "It's finished."

A sardonic half-smile appeared and disappeared on the lead Hunter's face. "I can see that." Without breaking eye contact, he nodded his head in the direction of the fire. "Bit over-the-top, don't you think?" When this remark evoked no response, Cena's expression sobered slightly. "Look...what you did was _necessary_. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah..." The big man nodded slowly, his dark eyes never leaving Cena's blue ones. "But that doesn't mean I feel good about it."

"We never do," the lead Hunter replied cryptically, and left it at that. "What'd you do with the kid working the front?"

"He's fine," Dave answered. "though he's gonna have one hell of a headache from that knock I gave him. I got him out before the flames spread - some friends of mine are taking him across town out of harm's way-"

"Wait..._friends_?" Cena stared at the big man with what could have almost been amusement. "Since when do _you_ have _friends_?

This time, a faint smile touched Dave's mouth. "Just some folks that I helped out of a tough spot a while back - they let me crash at their place for a few weeks."

Cena shook his head, his own mouth curving up in a half-smile. "Wonders never cease..." he murmured. He nodded his head in the vampire's direction. "By the way - how're the new teeth working out?"

The big man shrugged, running his tongue over the stainless steel canines Jeff had crafted for him. "Not bad - once you get used to the feeling of having metal shoved up into your gums." He hooked his thumbs into his belt, changing the subject. "Any word from base?"

Cena nodded. "Vans are packed, gear's all stowed, we leave in a few hours - but Hope is reportedly being a holy terror." An amused note crept into the lead Hunter's voice. "_Apparently_, neither Maria nor Jeff can do the voices for The Cat in the Hat right, and she refuses to go to bed until 'Daddy' comes home and reads it to her."

The vampire chuckled, unable to keep back both the grin and the involuntary surge of love that the mere mention of his daughter always seemed to induce. "Well, I guess we better hurry home, then." At this, Cena pushed his muscular frame off the car and falling into step next to Dave as the two of them walked away.

For a long minute, neither one of them spoke; finally, Dave shot a glance over at the lead Hunter. "Where're we headed after this?"

Cena shrugged. "I thought we'd head south along the East Coast for a while, then head west along the Gulf once we reach Florida. That's the thing about this job: no matter where you go, there's always business to take care of-"

The lead Hunter paused, realizing that Dave had stopped walking and was instead staring back at the swirling column of smoke rising up from the burning Viper's Pit. The vampire ducked his head, and in the faint light, Cena thought he saw him blink away tears. "This is no way-" His voice cracked a little, and he cleared his throat; tried again. "-no way...to raise a child - or for a child to _live_-"

"I don't disagree with you," the lead Hunter interjected softly. He closed the remaining distance between them. "But you've done the best you can." Reaching down, he grabbed hold of Dave's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Cena hesitated, choosing his next words carefully: "Mickie...would be _proud_."

As soon as his lost love's name drifted out into the audible air, Dave looked up, turning his gaze toward Cena. The lead Hunter smiled; however, there was no masking the implacable light in his eyes as he uttered one final sentence: "And when those bastards _do_ come...we'll be ready for them."

Dave stared at him wordlessly for a moment or two, then eventually nodded, his face easing into a grin of his own. "Come on," the vampire said finally. "I want to see my little girl."

Cena returned the nod, and the two of them - the human Hunter and the vampire-turned-ally - walked side-by-side down the street, their outlines gradually fading, then losing form and definition altogether as the night swallowed them up.

**THE END**


End file.
